Dead oceans of our pitch black regrets mourn in this dark sun rise,
Our inner voice slowly,day by day,drying up
In the muddy veil of uncouth disguise,
We stop at some point of tiring legs
Knee crumbles,eyes get numb.
We try to smile our way out of this wood
But forget where we kept it last time,
We try to float-- be a white cotton cloud!
But we fail heavily every single time.
So,Keep staring at the dwindling faces,
Cracking sound of the heart's surface
Fills every inches of the air we breathe in,
then at the end of it all,
Having this outworn back against the wall--
We take our lifeless bodies back in our unnecessarily overcrowded cages.

Drugs of this irascible replication
Have taken our subconscious self to a
hallucination of heaven!
But actually,
we're dumping our remains in rotten drain.

© Subhajit