Clouding Visions,
Blurring that thin line,
Is it the fiction games that nights play?
A Slamming Door,
beyond the threshold of misunderstandings,
more than a lifetime of outpourings.
A Stupidly earnest mirror,
Tied by its own mercenary conscience,
Remains true to all emotions you don't want to see reflected.
A pompous old clock,
Stuck up, married to its own foolish ego,
Just refuses to heed your cries of just pausing and letting go.
Blurring that thin line,
Is it the fiction games that nights play?
A Slamming Door,
beyond the threshold of misunderstandings,
more than a lifetime of outpourings.
A Stupidly earnest mirror,
Tied by its own mercenary conscience,
Remains true to all emotions you don't want to see reflected.
A pompous old clock,
Stuck up, married to its own foolish ego,
Just refuses to heed your cries of just pausing and letting go.
The Teakwood bed,
Though itself bedridden with termites,
Waits faithfully to lull me into that aimless soulless sleep.
Unfair!
Strings of my old guitar,
I need you to catch in the tune today,
The Cobwebs I've cleared,
I just need to strum,
need to strum along
need to strum along..
All night Long!
-Palash
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