Poor Thing

The sun is hiding,

Darkness is raining upon

The surface of the earth.

These are the scariest part

Of major mortal existence.

Men are tired of nights

Yet their spirits cannot

Stop welcoming them

Into their abode.

Most who try to manage it with opened eyes

End up with closed eyes

And sometimes with stiff bodies.

Lazy thing!

They offer nothing interesting

To the dead body and awaken minds

But still gives the oblivious

Bodies reasons to trust

After they’ve walked

Thousands of miles

Visited thousands of places

Jumped millions of taller mountains

Crossed a billion wide furious oceans

Met many familiar faces

And yet cannot make out

One identity of what they’ve seen-

Poor Souls!

It’s the most terrible state

Of every second existence

Where a minute costs a billion Dollar bill

And time can be cheated.

Where familiar places are

Usually decorated in different garments

Where one can be lost in his own home

And men and women can

Be strangers to their own selves.

Where higher mountains can be jumped down

Like just a steep.

An existence where all these

Are done in a second.

Poor Thing!

I don’t blame you

For your tiredness and forgetfulness

You roam than enough, so don’t say-

Dreams are what we eat

When I want to know where you’ve been

For dreams aren’t what we eat!

Dreams are where we go

Where we spend time

With our second selves

During our daily death.