Rekindled,
The burning fire
Glows so brightly.
Energised,
The tired runner
Picks up his pace.
The metaphorical standstill
Which proves to be
So majestic
May be beautiful, but
The dust particles
That dance in the strong
Sunlight
Is unbelievably picturesque.
Staying with that,
I ground myself.
Running around
In the same spot,
I stay firm to any winds
Which blow gentle cuts on
My already dry skin.
Switching to and fro
It's a difficult choice,
I'm indecisive afterall.
The self-comforting
Is helpful after all.
Sarcastic smiles
Are indeed a certain form
Of a slight untruth.
But we can
Fake it till we make it,
A famous saying,
It must be true.
Deceitful,
But the recordings
Repeat themselves in a
Monotonous tune,
Draw out the comfort.
We can believe,
I can deceive.
