When the chronicle reaches the end and the moon blinks its last, I wake up to redraft the expedition; Every step orchestrated millions of time in my mind; I am running for stimulation In my backward I grow hope; Losses are seeds concealed in the soil, New season will bring the green, Water them, pull some string! Restoration is not an exercise, A routine! The hills are unpromising and they have eyes, It buries mysteries in its bosom, Still teaches many untold lessons! Where do you start when you lost the mark? All you need is a spark!
I sojourn in the streets of nowhere, Sometimes a year is a day, Many forgetful days I passed; No one's truth is more ingenuous than others, We fly without feathers!? Our mind takes us places, We rest to re-energise; Sometimes simply to rise! Every soul writes its story, In the mysterious pages of life;
My story escaped with the tide!!
