You and I were walking down a solitary path, one day.
You walked on the fallen leaves, which looked like sufferers of war.
We were at antipodes, your side had night,
While my side had a bright sunny day.
As we walked, you chose to talk of non human meetings,
Where people fed on blood.
With a prideful smile,
You spoke, " I killed two fifty zombies, as they marched towards my farm.'
And I asked you , "Why?"
They could have destroyed my boundary wall.
"Why would they?"
They are bigots.
"They told you so?"
No, but I know, they were.
"So they were a menace to your lands?"
To humanity in brief.
And, you added, to God.
"God " I smiled.
"He told you so?"
No, you said arching your brow,
But it is my duty.

You told me many more stories of how you and your allies saved the World and God.
But our thoughts were like ice and fire.
I told you,
But they are His children.
You killed your siblings.
And your instant reply was,
"Not mine."
So you think that your God didn't made this entire World.
"He did."
So he must have made all that's living.
"True."
Then who were those two fifty, whom you killed?

You were quite for the rest of the journey.
I should have told you,
I wished to learn the answer to that question in this life.
But you were lost in dark.

A sunshine smile, is a makeup they wear,
With loads of jokes in their book to crack,
You will always find them,
Howling, shouting, laughing,
As if the world will end that night.
You can approach them with all your problems,
they always have a solution.
You might even admire them,
And wish to be like them.

But friend you are wrong.
You don't know the person behind those masked expressions

Ever saw them in solitude?
Then you will see the TRUE them.
A sea of tears, covers their face,
With thunderstorm rising within them.
Their life is a dark cave,
with mysteries, and no light.

They can help everyone,
but not themselves.
They can speak of everything,
but not of their pain.
Why?
They don't want sympathy,
they just want care, that's a rare merit to find.
They are not wild,
But are soft like wax.
They will never hurt you,
'cause they know how it feels.

What we see, might not be true,
And what hurt people show is never true.

Feelings,
those insidious little things.
They ******, make you squirm,
sneak in unawares,
make nebulous all that is firm.

Feelings,
those traitorous little things.
They lift you up, make you float
then change without a warning
and sink the **** boat.

Feelings,
those warm little darlings.
With you through harmony or strife,
your companions, they let you
revel in the drama called life.