Mornings are like sad songs,
I again dreamt of me running away.
Here I'm sitting, wandering where should I run away,
From where every time hollow sadness lurches in.
I could have laughed being among the people,
But my blind optimism is letting me ache
With the pain that I myself am unaware of.
Is this the agony of someone else left in me,
The agony I created,
Or my empathizing spirit?
Oh, I should've known life could be this way,
Letting me release from that grip of living inside my head.
But the spirit cradled the moment,
Leaving me long ago,
Whom I couldn't stop from feeling
What is freedom, happiness, love, and joy.
But then why does this morning again sound like a sad song,
While all along I tried to be happy?
Wandering where that joy left me—
I was dancing with yesterday only?
Wandering how it could leave so early
When I hadn't kissed it last goodbye again?
How come the morning sounds so hollow and dark
Instead of that warmth and sunshine?
Mornings are like sad songs,
Which often made me travel through the winters,
Making me run through the coldest embrace.
This sadness isn't hurtful,
It is just cold and still,
As I kept walking through that cold embrace in summers.
YOU ARE READING
Tales Of Hopeless Romantics: Imperfect Poetic Journey Of Love And Life
Poesia"My love was as cruel as my nightmares, and it was as beautiful as my daydream, which never dare to turn itself into reality, neither did it ever ended like a daydream, the agony kept hanging me like that of half hope, the hope kept hanging me like...
