Pushed to swim with the fishes of lies,
Grotesque souls drowning you with despise,
In the chaotic talions loneliness arise,
Qualms of nostalgia in the harn summarize;
Still and all, no action to refrain from it suffices.
Stabbing a knife, your dear ones wry,
Spirits cry and evils pry;
The heart gets colder and fragile,
Displaying a smile, you agonize,
They did it, and they don’t realize.
The wretch can’t be a reason for exile,
For a strife to stay alive you stride;
Wed the gree of failures, with the clause that you’ll never blin,
And grace the grace, by helding up the chin,
Giving up the hopes you had from the kith and kin.
For the creation of rainbow, a storm is plot,
Meaningful voyage it is, what seems to you like a blot,
You had shed tears when the folks were in misfortunate bly,
Yet their sinister selfishness made them abandon you to cry,
Enough- You say, have I done for them,
For myself I shall now bleed dry.
The hurt becomes your drive,
Seeing people coming by, to loneliness you wanna dive,
The same fishes of lies, now become an absurd gride,
With the currents flowing against you, you still thrive;
You’ve become the Sinbad who’ll never forget to clive,
And without love, you’ve learnt to survive.
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