The one handed thief looked at the bank
and said I know the layout like the back of my hand .

They are the others who make art,

    I? ME? No, how can i really be an artist?
             I am a teacher, may be a tailor,
                            may be if i try then i can even cook well,
                                      but no,
                           no way am I an artist.

                     They are the others who make art,

Those guys they look different,
            but look at me, I look the same but just with longer legs.
                       So, I cannot really be called an artist.

They are the others who make REAL art,

             I don't have things like them.
            But well, I think it is OK.
        May be, I might just be a different kind of an artist.

The Doubts,
The constant,
Sporadic,
Persistant,
Doubts.
Riding on a ferris wheel,
Going up and down,
Riding through the wave,
Then all alone in my cave.  
Going up and down.  
The doubts
Come and go,
Set me free,
Then prison me in bitter sprees.
Oh, leave me be.
There is no room for doubt,
That is the key.

Give me freedom from all the bonds
Let me swim freely like a fish in pond !

Let my tired soul breathe a little,
Because now my heart is so very brittle !

Let me cry my heart out,
I am so very tired of hatred and doubts !

Let me live and let me sleep,
I don't want to get attached anymore so deep !

Love me truly or let me go,
I can't fight with feelings and feel so low !

I can do this!
Or not?
I will be okay!
Will I?
I'm perfectly happy!
Am I?
I don't need anybody else!
Really?