Hour hand seems to be in a race
It keeps rushing for years
I have lost my words , in search
of her face
I crave my own despise, my eternal wrath
Casted purely through a furlong
A story of a sinful child winded by oblivion
Hinted by the sense , but always weak in math
Hour hand rushes through the ages
I observe the drifting silence
Across the glowing of the city's street lights
and a daily facade , everything changes
I sometimes wonder how can emptiness
be so pure in its divine form, yet
an atrophy to the living soul , for those
for some , for me and at times for none
Hour hand smiles at my fate
And whispers reality in its cold touch
She was everything once
Now her dreams echoes while I fade
A vague understanding of the past ,
But true to the innerself in the present
This fading soul prays for her best
In my own silent ways across the forlorn corners
I still pray for your best.
