Lonely I stand in this grand hall,
where I am forced to expose my scars to all.
People walk by and mock my fall,
as if my feelings were a toddlers doll.
I wipe my tears in pain
to carry a soul that was slain,
by folks who made my efforts go in vain
and had all my acts, dumped away in a drain.
Dejected I kneel down to address
the evidence of my oozing out weakness,
to a hall that has the power to suppress
and turn the jury heartless.

I feel a fluttering hand on my skin
which brings upon my face a rare grin,
as I know the hand would go up-to my chin
and wait for it aspproaching twin.
Expecting the fingers to cuddle with my face,
I dream of a romantic scene on a terrace,
where the lover would warmly embrace
and freeze the ticking clock’s pace.
Such colourful feelings like mirages
drag my imagination out of the cages,
where it has only speculated for ages
that the glancing off hands were like blessings from sages.