How I started as  a ***** boy
To become a street ******* bohemian
Because my pain is effected like a widower cries out in hope.
I struggle within my tracks to be king  of  hope,
Money and fame keeps me off the mind of a widower

How I started as a ***** boy
Working  not against the cries to be known as
Optical mind is  not stupid to be understood
how everyone treat me like a nobody
seeks  help from an unknown shadow.
they classified  me as one of their  beggars.
When money wasnt  my target .

How I started as a ***** boy
They sees  me as a man inside  a female profile
Fills with grey hairs  inside my pocket
And only my hand could pick them out,
As I walk helping  life
I just felt like  Am dead


Im dead and no ones could feel me ,
The last rain  drop could not really define my life on a lion bearing
That ,the definition of my square multiplication , I hate it
And new ,I could be proud  that I fellow these people ,
As I wake up ,
I deserved
How my life has been without a way out

I deserve to be dead,
Dead as I am still dead
Grey hair faded away without my knowledge of my struggle
I’ m dead.

Pencil ✏ and pen ✒

My Faded lines
My added lines
Ways to decide '
My flows with a ink
As my hand could only
move forward in length but
Could not go back backward height
Direction to illustrate
my path with a stick

     Pencil and Pen

Actually actions is so little as
my first name written with
ink and stick of my followers
Saying, am a Pencil and
our lives Is a symbol of pen
I can only destroy my pathway
but cannot change my way's of life

       Pencil and Pen

You hast put my love ones
into  epic sleep by the Difficult passenage
Like a blade line's through my skin,
even when I choose to Fill my pathway with ink's
I still ran out of source'
Looking for a source to refresh my ways
I think,  
Am gone
And another pen could be' my kid ' as he
Count my lines through freedom and unbearable pain

                    Am a  Pencil ✏
   Am a  Pen ✒

I will look at the clock again,
and again, tomorrow. And again
I will notice how late I come,
how old is my love, how old.
And I will look at the clock again
and will leave and you'll stay.
And the sea will also stay and I
will look at the clock again
and you'll stay with the day,
and tomorrow will be today,
and you'll stay, and I'll be gone.
But if I'd come earlier I wouldn't
have find you either,
have loved you either,
have need you either.
I wouldn't have what?
I wouldn't need a sword
to cut time in half.

I'll look at the clock again,
and again, tomorrow. And again
he will smile, mockingly.
All the same, I will look.