"Messed up I am," you say,
pointing out my rugged clothes and untidy hair.

"Careless", I am tagged,
for the craps, I don't care.

But, let's stop and analyze for a while.

When I walk calm and composed,
feeling the air,
you run and chase, unsatisfied,
filled with despair.

I say I feel it, I like it, I love this.
You say,
you have no time for all these.

I tap my feet,
on the beat, we hear,
And watch you if you would,
switch to that gear.

Coz, you are the one
with the dance medal.
And now you don't try,
not even a push on the pedal.

Now, you say who is messed up?
You or me?
Though your suit is great,
and your hair neatly done,
you have no peace,
inside you burn.

You run a track,
leading to illusion,
and all you have is
a big pile of confusion.

All I say is live the moments in your time,
And seek your peace, your love sublime.