A distant possibility he used to dream;

a hazy perception of a prospect of them

Hope and light were easy to be found;

for they just had to look at the horizon

The birthplace of sun and its golden halo;

a miracle lighting up their small world

Fly away little birdie and fly you must;

fly away from all this stinking pile of shit

You have to escape this all right now;

before you take an ill-fated and fatal hit

Feelings are needles, sharp and poisonous;

emotions squirm like snakes in a dark pit

Crawl out of the trench you dug yourself;

before your will surrenders and throat is slit

Sometimes love doesn’t need words;

you can smell it in a shy fragrant smile

But then, you see what you want to see;

from up close, even when away by a mile

Sometimes there is and was no love at all;

you just chose to assume love in a guile

     Legend tells us that away from the hustle and bustle of life and beyond the light of the setting sun, there is a forest – the emerald forest of imagination. Deep within this forest is the silver pool of glimmering desires. Surrounding the pool, are the grey boulders of regret and on one of those boulders, sat an old man dressed in a tattered black robe. He held his head within his palms and was pulling on his grey hair in anguish.

‘Oh! I had a dream and that dream just died;

Oh! My poor dream has breathed her very last

‘But where has my poor dream vanished away?

You must know, you’re my Present and my Past’

Go and kill them, kill them slowly or kill them fast;

kill them with your abject disinterest and disregard

Kill them for they forgive you their very own murder;

kill them for their hearts are now too badly scarred

Sometimes I wish I could just fade away;

leaving behind no memory, not even a trace

Sometimes I wish I could remove myself;

from this stupid illusion of life and space

The unhappy are forever to remain alone;

for that is the decreed nature of their fate

Happiness, an elusive dream they pursue;

and when they fail, it’s always a wraith