The realms of life seems dark, my child
You might never know what it takes to be blind
In a cruel association
Where everyone loves blood of humiliation

Some say, don't fear
But who knows of what an innocent face can hear
If thy had been killed
By a worldly madness of chaos; he drowned in beguiled

Walking past through the memory lane
I will soar, high enough, to accumulate these past dreams that are solely made

Yet, as they say, love isn't just enough. Love with no freedom to keep isn't a love you should always keep.

Speak the truth, my man, don't trap me in your hourglass. I know time will come, and it'll hurt me somewhere, someday, as I shall accept this twisted fate.

Although, as I roam the dreamy skies, where we'd make a vow—there left the picture of you standing by the river of remnants. And every minute was your reflection fading away from my sight.

By then, I ask myself; Would your promises ever suffice my tremendous thirst for an eternal affection?

Let me go, o' hove. Let another woman lead you to a world where love is just enough.

The face of tomorrow
might be
the last of my sight
for the world;
and when my pain
ends today
then how could I ever feel
the love of one's presence
before
who might save me
from the eclipse that is passing,
from a story of lachrymose?

‪I tried existing truthfully;‬
I made one and a thousand mistakes
Some of them alike white lies,
Yet most of them are tragic.

I asked for forgiveness, I beg.
I lay down on my knees ahead
My heart, I heard— screaming, praying
Devouring for merciful hands.

To seek the face of God,
I no longer wanted to suffer for
They see me brave, but nothing of a dolor
And I ask Him, hear me out once more

In the midst of midnight confusion,
I no longer wanted to fight anymore;
I wanted to end the pain in galore—
And for people to find my name buried in store.

With stapled lips, he thought of the day;
Inhaled as if a brick was blocking his airway
With a heavy heart—brimmed in anxiety,
The man, yet fright, stood in weary.

He's called out for an unending critic,
Walking past the hall of justice with ocean of eyes—clamantly staring at him.
He's creeped out, feeling less of a righteous civic
The man, in worry, seemed to broke down affirm.

His defied soul returned to every judging mutter;
As if he remembered every detail of how people named him, "the great jitter"
A known suspect of the silent past—close to death, he was threatened
10 years had gone, today was his final trial.

On the long run, afraid of saying a fragment
For he knew his voice would end this hellish session;
The man, in epiphany, had faced the judge
For now, they knew, he was the real victim of this unjust system.

"This country nor the government may not believe me, for I have demolished the untold in a decade,
For I hated speaking the truth in public, for as I know, my brevity won't ever be heard.
I may die for tomorrow, but I know that my voice today will lastly matter as a victim of this prejudice.