At the times of grief,
Or despair or some kind of disbelief,
I have a place where I can go,
To cut that grey rope that connects me with sorrows,
Is my building of hope.

Even if He,
The building's resider,
Has never talked to me,
Still I share with Him all the secrets,
And all my stupid dreams.

The building of hope is where people go,
To get tied,
With a bit of hope.
But see how inhumanity seems to outlasts.
For people didn't leave this building too,
And have bind its walls with caste.

So now I have another wish,
That I want to clear away that caste,
That stays like rust,
On my building of hope,
And makes my place unable to cope.

Hence I still go there,
To my building of hope,
And tell Him my wish,
With that distant whispers.
Then one day will come,
When He would break all those walls,
And would straighten this slippery slope,
Making it the most brightest
&
OUR buildings of hope.

-Aarya Kareepadath
© Aarya kareepadath