I was never afraid of the dark, but rather my delusions.
Knew they were illusions.

It was those faces that I see,
Not those clowns.
Not those nuns.

It was someone who stares when I close my eyes,
Not those ghosts,
Not those dolls,

Those big eyes,
Staring into my soul,

They’ll eat me alive,
They‘ll eat my flesh.
The thought comes to my mind,
And I open my eyes.

I see nothing,
but,
A Fan,

It was dark.
I looked around I saw faces.
I closed my eyes I saw faces.

Can't a man rest in peace?

Turned my light on,
Closing my eyes off,
They are gone.

(Are they truly gone?
Or waiting for the next moment of vulnerability.)

Become a non-living thing.
As a kid,
I used to wish—
Wished to be anything,
But myself.

I thought of becoming a chair,
paused—
“The weight of people
is too heavy to bear”

I thought of becoming a dressing table,
afraid—
“Too many things
to handle.”

I thought of becoming a mirror,
scared—
“They’d shatter me
For the truth they can’t bear.”

I thought of becoming a cloud,
disgusted—
“Don’t want to be someone
Who cannot control themselves.”

Now, I think about that,
giggling,
Over my stupid thoughts.

I wondered,
What I would become.

people say,
“Oh, to be free as a bird.”
Anyone would shoot them
For crossing fences.

What about the air?
People would pollute me
And I wouldn't
be able to take a bath.

I wonder what I will become,
Anything,
But,
A human.

Do you sell time?
I have words to unsay,
To someone who’s far away.

Do you sell time?
I’d want to remove my talks,
With someone who doesn't last.

Do you sell time?
I want to be aware,
Of who’s good when things are severe.

Do you sell time?
I’d want patience,
When it needed silence.

Do you sell time?
I’d like to go away,
Into the first day.

Do you sell time?
I want to undo,
The words I drew.

Oh—
You don’t?
Then I guess,
It's bad.

The flowers died on Monday,
They were fine this Sunday.

I should have watered them,
I should have loved them.
I should have shown affection,
I should have watched them.

It was under my watch,
It is what I regret the most.

I shouldn’t actually have kept them,
I crushed those gems.
They are now withered,
They’ve lost their scents.

Those dead roses,
Which I should have hosed.

Now,
I have put them in my books,
Though their leaves are crushed,
But still they are loved.

The flowers died on Monday,
They were fine this Sunday.

(Do we regret the things we have done,
Or the things which we didn’t?)

And I'd like to go away,
Somewhere far, far away.

Where theirs only the sound of birds chirping,
Only the sound of the river flowing.
Can reach me.

A small house,
With myself.
And me.

Where no loud noises can touch me.
Where no shoutings can find me.

So If i go,
No one would judge,
No one would talk.

And I'd like my memory to be dissolved—
To vanish into the air,
And that air would go to the polluted area.

So I'd like to go away,
Far, far, away,
Where nothing can reach me.
But the wind,
And the silence.

And the country is now full of graves,
Full of sad faces,
But the people stand, saying,
“They are brave.”

So what about the children?
War took everything,
And they are now wildrens.

So, they sit around,
Talking about,
Their wounds.

They are burying,
Their dreams,
Their Families,
Their Home.

So, they pray.
“Please, come back,
I miss you. Mother.”
And so they spend their day.

So when they need food,
Mothers kiss their sons,
And wish for their sons,
To come back alive.

But it wasn't like this,
Once, it was happy.
Once, it was blessed.

Stay in my room,
To have; I don't know
Whom,

It looks like waiting,
Rather, panting.

And,
2 months of waiting,
Now, I hate it.

I don't know what am I waiting for,
Perhaps, for someone who’s far away,
My eyes are sore.
My mind is bore.

I don't know what am I waiting for,
Perhaps for someone who doesn't exist,
When she’d walk through the door,
My face would be delightened once more.

But, now she’s gone.
As she warned.
“Do not be attached. Or else you’ll fall on.”

Didn't understood.
Still, nodded.

Guess, should have Been careful,
Since now,
I am despairful.

Dunno what am I waiting for,
Perhaps for someone who’s far away.
Perhaps for someone who doesn't exist north away.