Have you ever looked at a flower in a garden full of weed,
Or the piercing rays of sun flushing a crying sky,
An oddity in the making,
A distaste amidst the setting…
Depending on perseverance
An object of taking…

That’s it… that’s who I am.

A silent voice…
The dream of delusion, without a choice…
Used by others as a tool,
In an era of modernity, an emotional neoclassical fool…
The abrupt noise in the melody,
A sound too bleak,
A bleached splatter in the colorful cacophony,
The fat clown in the age of sleek…
Thrown in a corner,
Neglected and torn apart, I yearn for something my mind brews…
Ignoring all the allegations, the stabbing among the friendly crews…
A kind heart, a naive mind, all is nothing but blind…
To a reality that we never knew,
Restless in the shackles of the employers due…
Yet… I move on,
To hear a friend for the heart to sleep,
The hope for a bank for the feelings to keep,
To keep away the loans that bankrupted us deep,
Just searching a home for our heads to keep…
Hoping for a miracle to tidy the thoughts to messy,
Inner me shouting unheard for an underlined ecstasy…