Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Dreams Undreamt and Final Words

Born to a world blind in belief,
Born with a wish that I could see,
Tamed by the times, a civilization breathes,
While I yearn for the air of the seven seas
Flustered and sweating, with time running short,
They call out to me as I stand by and watch,
Why do I feel they’re the ones left behind,
I’m just drifting away somewhere in time

Clinging to visions that haunt and strike fear,
Too familiar with fear to let go of the scare,
Fighting with outcasts and closing upon selves,
Cloaking the emptiness with nakedness and air
Striving to reach out, building their own walls,
Efforts to nothing when death’s on His way,
Riding alone in groups of made of millions,
Each one a minion, the same as the rest

Whispers are passions, a call unto no one,
A sermon all that’s needed to paint lands red,
Deriding the bystander, horses getting higher,
When was my joke turned into your prayer?
Their running gets faster and eyes close tighter,
My stillness still gets me further away from the race
Would you still hold me and tell me it’s all right,
Or will I lose even my closest friend?

The boy knows not for what he yearns,
Trying to please all the blind men that guide,
Lives spent in vain or in glorious reflection,
Aware of but little, but so wise as to decide,
Blissfully holding the boy to their own dreams,
Every road thronged these kinsmen born damned
There was a time when the mind ran free,
Now dreams are bounded; there’s nowhere to hide

The young man, he dances for those departed,
While praising the fires that consume the live,
Macabre motions while crawling down the heights,
That overlook those that embodied the strive
Scream while I sit here move closer to nowhere,
Aging not one day while years me by,
Laughing in madness at your desires,
That cause the insane to sit down and cry

Every tear unshed, every unrealized fear,
Every minute unlived while walking the line,
Desires fulfilled while life feels so empty,
Dreaming for the young boy his own successful life,
How do things end when they never begin,
What price a dream when someone knocks on the door,
Where live a life punished for unwilling treason,
Committed by an old man who’s dying once more

Maybe I should not have been alive,
Or maybe I should have felt pain,
When I tell the truth and contemplate the lie,
And when I know I’d do the same again,
The flame that burns; that ebbs and dies,
It wasn’t meant to be for we all die,
They chant as one; they’ll die as one,
But will anyone remember their lives?

2 comments:

Suhas Anand said...

whr r u thse days dood ?....mumbai ?..if so wht u upto these days ?

R. said...
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