By Muhammad Umair Shabbir, Pakistan
When the sun goes down,
I slip back into consciousness.
Glued to my bedroom's window,
The sight outside, a flash-back,
A grey-scale picture withered in time.
Haunting my mind, enchanting,
Cool breeze caressing my skin,
My eyes jammed on the big, ol' tree.
I lose my senses to the dreamy vision.
When the sun goes down,
It's time to sway away…
To the sweet music of life.
The silvery moonlight, illuminating
The world where only I exist, alone.
My throat tears as I scream
And the Heavens tremble;
The squeal of my conscience
Mutes the moans of my soul.
When the sun goes down,
The show must go on…
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
By Muhammad Umair Shabbir, Pakistan
When the sun goes down,
I slip back into consciousness.
Glued to my bedroom's window,
The sight outside, a flash-back,
A grey-scale picture withered in time.
Haunting my mind, enchanting,
Cool breeze caressing my skin,
My eyes jammed on the big, ol' tree.
I lose my senses to the dreamy vision.
When the sun goes down,
It's time to sway away…
To the sweet music of life.
The silvery moonlight, illuminating
The world where only I exist, alone.
My throat tears as I scream
And the Heavens tremble;
The squeal of my conscience
Mutes the moans of my soul.
When the sun goes down,
The show must go on…