lonely times

like the cat on the streets crying.. you peek outside..

to find desolation..

from the world, lights, sound, people, cameras.

from the music blinding out your sight..

and the pack of cards you ought to play in free time everyday..

you get between the sheets..hold hands, walk with lights ahead..

and even bigger things look down upon you..

they poke you.. you reject it..

weary and tired..walking down memory lanes

strange and cumbersome..

they hurt you, 

but thats how it is supposed to be..

lines after lines..words and pencils

wires all messed up.. 

like it was never jeopardised earlier..

and yet you want that feel

of goodness.. of nicer times..

and you go out,

to dream,to earn

forgetting the basics..

to come back again..

you have no one to read..

praise..

but this is expression..

the source.. 

you read,you delve into it..

and forget..

to die!!