With his strangled rigours and pain..
A life started to crawl up this street
His thought creeps past his silent solitude..
And he fails to pause in the midway..
He knows he had to fall
He wishes he could mend a fault..
But he can't fly..
There was a halt to heal the passion..
Still there was a dream to steer a function...
driving his soul (to) run back...
down the street through the weeping boulevard..
And then he feels he is on the top....
He dares to stare down the street
The still breeze waved him back..
And he dived down to flee..
He turned his fate,and he played with a ploy..
to mend the things never to lose n cry..
The soul of a saint cries in delight
The lonely life beams again...
The still breeze started to blow....
The glimmering sunbeam started to shiver...
Still the life can't turn back...
This motion rushed back to stall,
There, the life stands still..
He can't move for a while...
Now the thoughts,brooding over the sky..
"Where to fly...
where to find..
Ain't I sleeping by now?
Ain't I stuck in this motion?
or I'm so free today..
There ain't a darkness to play!"
2 years ago