A life away from life and here is the air similar to the ones before,
Casting away the existing darkness and shyness into the withering dust,
Galloping the existing me into believable things living past life,
Similar to what it always has been, a life away from life.
Move ahead because it isn’t there any space other than the utopia,
To feel life like that is possible without making a possible life with all its possibilities.
Paying heed to the fact that even this part is a questionable move into the future,
Never away, I guess, I’ll be from the world that pulls me down.
What will I do in the time so left away from the world I so urged to be a part of,
Mixing inspirations with impending hopes of a tomorrow being a better place to live,
Buzzing in the ears of my peers, a plan to live goes unheard, a lust to painlessly die lives,
And despite not being a messiah, of not being a muddlehead, things go for a loss.
In the coziness of today where the past hopes have brought colors to this Sunday morning,
In the jigsaw of finding meaningful words to be put for meaningful lines,
In the silent struggle coming out of certain dark yet plausible pockets of life,
In the thought of shredding away the usualilty of me that got me since my inception,
I’m here to stay and make the change towards what it needs to be, what it always should have been.
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