I sat behind the bars made out of iron
A small room with no ventilation
They covered my vision
So I will be blind for a reason

I’m stuck in a jail with one cell
At the bottom of her heart
Where it simulates hell
And they will cut me apart

I was brainwashed by the leader
And forced me to love her
She used her beauty and body
To hypnotize me
So I serve her while I’m hungry and thirsty

I am the Prisoner Of Her Love
A place where no light glows
The place I will be stuck there forever
The place for my funeral
Stuck in that one special room
The place where I live until doom

Pain drains you every day,
You try to fight.
The wounds of yesterday;
Still hurt at night.
You feel lost in darkness
Grief consumes you
And so does madness.
No light to look up to,
You sink in despair
You tell yourself time and again;
"Life is not fair."
"Life is not fair."

Well then, let us make it fair.
Take my hand
Take the light that I share.
Call me your friend.

I understand how you feel
Wounds never truly heal.
Don't suffer in silence and hide your tears;
Don't submit yourself to your fears.

Yes, life is not fair.
But, don't give up and take this light I share.
As much as I can, I will help you until the end.
After all, I am your friend.











Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved

Lights off,
Laying in my cell ,
Mind swirling around you,
How did I get back to this,

Plagued by my past,
Can't move forward,
Cause I can't get out this cell,
If i do i just come back for longer,

The past keeps me cold,
and guarded,
I can't help it,
Just how it be,

Babe I am sorry,
You fell for lowlife,
Babe I am sorry,
you fell in love with a lost soul ...

Lost inside my thoughts at night, silence is muted by the noise of my own mind. A deafening
silence.
Life and death, so fragile, such short moments. Why do we live by them? Time itself is
defined by life and death. By the rise and fall of the sun everyday.
How to define this I am going through right now? I don't feel alive nor dead. Time does not
seem to exist here and now, as the entire known world to me.
Like a caterpillar, trapped inside a cocoon, morphing myself to a butterfly, unaware of the
changes on the outside, of the perils awaiting for her on the outside as she gets out in the
search of the prettiest flowers on the path that leads to her partner, having to guess what
way to go.
Will I emerge as a butterfly or as a moth? Can one choose? Defined by genetics, sure. But
that does not apply here. Self awareness and focus are probably the defining factors in this
case. And if so, I shall emerge out of my cocoon as a beautiful Monarch, to cross the globe
after my soulmate, in a difficult but rewarding journey. Facing all forces of nature to find her,
and to finally be with her to the end of my short existence.
I don't want to leave this capsule as a moth, to hide in the shades and wonder through the
night. I want to emerge as one of her kind, a beautifully delicately coloured butterfly glowing
and reflecting every ray of sunlight that finds her delicate silklike wings.

Light is now the measure of time
No clocks, watches, cell phones
All man made machinery are of no use
Civilization collapses within these walls
Treated like cattle, slowly losing grasp of civilized habits.
Grows inside anyone here a primal state.
In fear of taking the path to a medieval time
I lock myself inside my own utopia.
Like cavemen, hiding in a cave, crafting instruments out of pieces of bones,
Gathered around fires, playing games, measuring forces to take the alpha male position.
Why don’t I adapt? Have I gone too far down the yellow brick road? Should I have not tasted of the apple?
I won’t settle for less than the world. They seem to know not beyond the cave we live in.
Where has time gone? It seems to be going backwards
At a speed greater than the one of thoughts.
Is this an utopian apocalyptic future, or am I back to the stone age?

Lost between words, buried by thoughts.
Tonight the distiller is dripping moonshine I drown my sorrows in.
The smoke of ****** marijuana mixed with tobacco takes over the gallery.
A handful of souls still awake. One thing in common we all have, the dream of freedom.
Killers, robbers, dealers, here one is no different than the next.
All government merchandise.
With the late hours of the night comes the silence.
As silence takes over, the hypnotic sound of the moonshine dripping from the distiller take one’s thoughts on a journey deep inside the mind.
Little by little the bottle fills up as the mind empties.
It is time the ghosts visit. Time to leave this place with them.
Cruising the known world in my mind. To be with the loved ones, at least on my imagination.
They seem to show up in waves. She is usually the first one. We talk, we dance, take long walks, but is never enough.
There is so much to know about her still.
Then come the friends, family. Eventually some actual ghosts even.
Slowly the moonshine and the writing give place to sleep.
The chance of meeting her in my dreams, moonshine inebriated.