Sometimes I pray with all my soul,
To the God I believe in,
Knowing that those prayers are futile,
But my heart is a vagabond who gives its whole,
For those prayers which make me feel they might come true, for a while.
I wish for it, I pray for it,
Even when I know I won’t get it.
Yet my heart gets hauled towards only those wishes,
Which I know are futile,
The prayers which make me feel they might come true, for a while.
So I permit my heart to employ these prayers,
And talk to the God I believe in.
I let Him only listen and let my heart free,
Knowing that its a prisoner who can never be set free.
When I say these prayers,
There is a ease of pain, sense of relief.
Knowing these feelings will leave,
My adamant heart still prays which is futile,
The prayers which make me feel they might come true, for a while.
At times I sense that I am addicted to these prayers,
These futile prayers coax me towards them,
Make my heart a wayfarer who prays,
Only the prayers which make me feel they might come true, for a while.