Everything I wake up to,are
All too familiar
I want to sleep,a bit more
In my cushion of dreams...
The city streets,are
A bit too crowded,with faces
I walk a different road
Wishing,I could be lost...
Of being used and abused
Tagore has lost meaning
I sit down to write something new
In the name of poetry...
The guards of time
Have it measured,in days and moments
I want to live,a bit more
Before turning ashes.....
All too familiar
I want to sleep,a bit more
In my cushion of dreams...
The city streets,are
A bit too crowded,with faces
I walk a different road
Wishing,I could be lost...
Of being used and abused
Tagore has lost meaning
I sit down to write something new
In the name of poetry...
The guards of time
Have it measured,in days and moments
I want to live,a bit more
Before turning ashes.....
as time limits us more n more..and the sand grains turns stone inside us day by day..we gotto learn how to grain it down again or turn it into carved milestones of a path yet unknown if we really wish to 'live ' this world i suppose ..nycc one.
ReplyDelete