Mira is like the color of dusk,
Life without rhythm is no life,
Today she is leaving,
The dark clouds would burst.

Mira.

Mira is like my drawing book,
The pages are clad with steams of life,
She would be leaving, like a crying
dream.
I would pretend to sing a song.

Mira.

Mira is my room of mirrors and signs,
Life without meaning is no life,
I'm born a weaver, My chance of birth-
My mind is like her heart, made of sticks.

Mira.

Hope is deaf.
Thought is blind.
Afternoons pass away,
Watching clouds.

A feeling is cold,
A maddening delight-
Syrupy evenings,
Watching eyes.

Two eyes, Two,
To the days before,
The Sun is old, kind,
But fraught with noise.

Cheer up, go along,
I don't care,
I never did wrong,
Silver nights.

Amal was a friend of mine,
We were together at school-
He used to fly kites, And-
I used to stare at the sky like a fool.

Amal was a friend of mine,
We were two good friends,
He used to get the highest in Chemistry,
And teach me the relative velocity,
of trains.

I was a little slow in math,
Always had been the fool-
But Amal was a friend of mine,
And, we were together at school.

During Summer, the evenings were long-
We used to play cricket till our bodies glowed.
I was a spinner, like the soft dying cloud,
And, Amal was a friend of mine,
I used to get him out.

He first taught me that girls fall in love,
And watching **** was wrong,
As Amal was a friend of mine,
And the summer evenings were long.

We were together at school,
Amal was my friend,
Recently we are getting old,
And we don't talk about the velocity of trains.

He now keeps a goatee-
His soul demands for a job,
I start blaming the government-
While he makes me stop.

Amal was a friend of mine,
we don't meet like before,
He took a a train to go away,
And I don't understand velocity anymore.

Dream Like an idiot,
Dance like a goat.
Deep like a wound,
The future's present ghost.

When you would be dead,
There would be new flowers at your door,
Time would not stop, The soul would
stop begging.

No one would speak, Pity would bathe,
like troubled twin babies.

You would be dead, the message from lights,
stills from photos, so many things.
Dying Young, wrapped and covered, boxed,
and released.

You would be dying,
Like the slow soft treble of leaves,
at a summer's night. The Forests, The clouds,
The half eyed moon, would stop begging.

You would be dying, dying like the river,
traveling again in a realm of strange colors.

Where is the music of The sunsets? The glowing flowing-
Youth?
The delicacy, The purple hazed yellow sky?

Trust me, someday you would die.
Time would stop, souls would stop begging-
wrapped, boxed, released.

The world is a missing music box,
Where the voices are lost.
All spirits are dancing, in spaces, between-
Madness and laughter, A child's tale.

Narrate the stories and ingest the thoughts,
The world is a missing music box,
And You are not what you rather seem to be-
Your religion, Your place, Your position in between,
A lost truth and and a crooked meaning.
A child's tale.