MARGINS OF LIFE

On the margins of life. Now resting. Standing and waiting. In anticipation. In confusion. Wondering what had happened to the rebel soul. To the daring existence. To the wild aura. Something pierced through it. Melted it down. Without awe. With no respect. Just invasion. Not even barbaric. That would have been caught. Rather subtle. Like an army. An intellectual one. That never fight but rather hide. Hide within and act without. Without grace and with soul-deep impact. You realise not the change. You understand not the pain. And after many more you feel the change.

It hits right on. The centre of esteem. The heart of confidence. Crumble them down. Stomp them flat. With no music. Just plain and flat.With the apparent sarcasm. With the fake sensitivity that hides layers of arrogance. Palette of selfishness. Shades of humiliation. Apparent in every word. With every snarl. Facial or vocal. It is all snarls.

It's I to be blamed. For years I did me ill.

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