The debacle of a dream, the drape of trivia
Like a sculpture, I stand in the fountain of realism.
Something restrains the conscience, freedom and the belief.
The lovely fragrance of flowers that beautify my life, lingers with the imminent decease.
The shape that inherited my fruitful memories, has dissolved in the rain.
Like a sculpture, I stand in a fountain of stillborn pain.
The icon that ruled the highest order of illusion, became a part of me.
The faces that I see, hover above the polar state of mind.
Losing the force, appeal and the bonded links.
Like a withered lady, I am longing to hold the time.
Coddled by exemption, stoned in love.
The falling pieces never shared their secrets.
Unaware of the night, unaware of the silence that awaits.
I opened my eyes to see the world.
The pool full of happiness traded with the trace of dreams.
Like a helpless child, I searched my mind.
Misery rests in peace everywhere.
Thence I stand in the middle of the fountain.
Searching myself in someone, somewhere..
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