On the edge of the railway
I was caught unprepared,
of whether to fight or not
of whether to give up or to give in.

I went to runaway
taking every breath that is left in me,
chasing the shadows away from my sun
pondering through these thoughts
of whether should I live or should I die?

I took the imbecile mind of a weak heart
struggling for words I cannot say,
revolution against chaotic ideas,
generating evidences of what is left,
generating evidences of what was taken away.

I stumbled on the great floor,
misled my feet on the broken rails of the railway.
I fractured my foot, the other luckily was scarred
now I have to run, but I just can’t.

Where should I put myself in this trouble
imparted on my living sense of self?
Now I have to run, but I have nowhere to go
I need to escape this extravasation of doom
as I left my heart on the coffin of his memories.

I wept right where I was trapped,
until someone offered his hand
and gently lifted me up from this pandemonium.

I turned my head up,
and saw the sincerity of heart that he possess,
whose eyes brought me to a safe haven.
I moved with him, and with him I breathe
the air of solace, the soliloquy of the imbecile.

He brought me to the sun, bequeathed it to me
and for me he chased its shadows away.
My doom is now the doomed,
as my chaos is now the chaotic,
for what was drastic is now lenient,
and that railway is now just another railway,
a quotient of my unfulfilled repose.