All full of scabs is your heart
Warning signs for a hurt soul
To not turn again
On that familiar pothole
Where you met a pristine girl
Making promises galore
She flew with the wind
When the season changed, and
All got wasted that you earned whole life
Not necessary whom you love shall be your wife.
Reality hits in your face
Chilly wind on a winter morn
Tears dry in your eyes
Of all feelings you are shorn
You stand numb like stone
With prominent temple greys
A straight road then
Seems like a complicated maze
All got wasted that you earned whole life
Not necessary whom you love shall be your wife.
With every turn of the page
You are reminded of hoary past
Through scribbles your pain speaks
You are unable to move fast
Bound to languish in fuzzy stupor
Is your destined way
Your life is colonial dungeon
Where love can’t find its way
All got wasted that you earned whole life
Not necessary whom you love shall be your wife.
Strange is the end of infatuated hangover
It becomes hazy all that was clear
There is nothing that can harm you
Yet every moment some loss you fear
Oh what a pain suffers bloodless heart
Living like this is no mean art
When people read your life so sore
You wish it not to become a folklore
All got wasted that you earned whole life
Not necessary whom you love shall be your wife.
We are born alone
With a clean slate
It must be known
Man is writer of his fate
All doodles that we in our life draw
All fuss that seems like last straw
Why can’t life be a peaceful dove
This question you must ask your love, ‘cos
All got wasted that you earned whole life
Not necessary whom you love shall be your wife.
– Prashant
Small City Thinker 