truth be told,
I am not that bold.
It is a jab into my eye,
a reality full of lies that my mom blames this distress.
Hold on, I can't tell black from white. Might as well be blind, I can predict even the scenic route that people doubt. My whereabouts are no longer in a crowd, standing with witnesses is unhealthy for me.
I want privacy, isn't being alone key anyways? Who is to care
if I write "Beware" or just  stare. In the end, there is this sentence left to bare. Always interpreting the language I so rarely speak. Energy may flow for others, but I am not a plug one can spark by lousy remarks.

Shakespeare
was not born genius
He threw out his ideas in a great way

~~
She rolls down the western edge
The bucolic Spiral path
Coincides with the horizon
Gray foot print
Slowly mingles with dark
As the Bats of evening find back to home

Gentle Breeze to dangle
Purple haze of Four O'clock
The Crossroads, Wait behind
Where to start, or what end is!
Poetry continuing as the falls of pain

Afternoon's Lyrics said good bye
Today's bright Star does not rise
What they chase during the run out!
Why come back again
Along with the known way!

Moonlit falls on the ways of Standing hill
Beyond the horizon
Dark fading, while
Lost love fusions with her colors
Across the Monsoon, Autumn, Winter
Finally the Spring is on the way
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen