Twelve marks & twenty four rounds,
What lies in between, is silent chaos.
The world running, following voiceless sounds,
Time is ticking, with utter noise.
Humidity in thoughts that hazed with silence,
Even the whitest are the wildest,
Running a riot so they don't breathe,
I might need a sorcery to set them free.
Overflowing waterfall,
every fear, every tear,
Overwhelming eyes,
dropping worries every here and there,
Every step I fail, although I'm leaving a trail,
On uncertain sands awaiting a storm,
We're lost even though we're on the top of the world,
But we tried hard, pour our heart and soul.
Sweet and sour, flavours of growth that I'm tasting away,
I wish to get just enough, what I deserve, but my way,
As cycles of unfamiliarity shook my earth,
With love shivering through every day's birth.
These lost pathways pull me back,
To my home, to my timezone.
And I'd follow you.
YOU ARE READING
The Dyslexia In Me
PoetrySometimes, you find yourself in the middle of nowhere, And sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, you find yourself. "And when the hourglass of my heart, Runs a riot & rips apart, I know the fireflies of the ocean would still follow me, From where...
