with hues and brush strokes I tried to unveil myself.
In the density of a painful song I tried to pacify the sick soul.
I tried to talk to Every new born flower bud and new leaf in the garden.
Every Attempt turned a cold shoulder towards me.
I lost my acquaintance with the nature, art and all I love.
I'm more or less a walking dead these days.
Everything I queer around is in a slow motion and blurred image.
I trudge aimlessly towards life.
I suspect myself as incongruous.
Dreams are drifting away.
I repeatedly ask myself
"Am I a miserable failure?"
In the density of a painful song I tried to pacify the sick soul.
I tried to talk to Every new born flower bud and new leaf in the garden.
Every Attempt turned a cold shoulder towards me.
I lost my acquaintance with the nature, art and all I love.
I'm more or less a walking dead these days.
Everything I queer around is in a slow motion and blurred image.
I trudge aimlessly towards life.
I suspect myself as incongruous.
Dreams are drifting away.
I repeatedly ask myself
"Am I a miserable failure?"
2 comments:
adirindi gurooooo..
All you need to do is stop talking to flowres and start talking to a woman and make love to her.
-- sreedhar
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