My feet don't catch the rhythm at nights.
I don't spend the mornings transfixed on flowers.
I can finally tolerate the ways of the world,
And neatly toss away its hours.
They say I smile more and live more,
And rightly do they judge.
Cause in all its polity, I shunned my innocence...
A mask in my face I smudged.
I once had a song book,
From which i sang to myself beneath the moonlight.
Be with like minds form smiles to laughs,
And life flowed from those heights!
You may find that book in the darkest pit of my closet,
And the lonely guitar stands in a mourn.
Tethered, I foolishly look around the world before me...
Cause I don't sing no more...
I dare not question anymore...
till i become a sad painting on the wall.
Adamantly oblivious to 'living'...
Can you raise the dead by a call?
I fear being with myself,
I fear truth and its stare,
Dreaming made me love myself...
But I can dream no more!
Anusha :)
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