Abigail is words, whispered in the dead of night
Abigail is pearls, so meticulously shined
Abigail is wind, personal yet public
Abigail is din, a beautiful ruckus

Bigail is books, every breath is a story
Bigail is gems, rich in her glory
Bigail is breeze, a soothing chill
Bigail is ease, with a bit of thrill

Igail is water, playful but cold
Igail is stormy, brewing and bold
Igail is calm, willing to wait
Igail is balm, soothing this place

Gail is half, fading quickly
Gail is worn, fragile and sickly
Gail is Earth, loving and warm
Gail is mirth, behind her thorns

Ail is sweet, and yet so sour
Ail is blood, of the hearts she devours
Ail is tears, as she turns to leave
Ail is fears, that she can't retrieve

Il is less, than sweet Abigail
Il is more, for she left a trail
Il is mad, raving lunatic
Il is bad, coughing and sick

L is tired, ready to go
L is crying, way down below
L is left, hanging by a thread
L is befret, the words she said

* * is nothing
There's nothing left of Abigail
No words left to whisper
Gone without a trail.

I've posted a picture
And no one has liked it
It hasn't a single comment
And I have grown befret

Yes, children are starving worldwide
And that family has no where to sleep
And there is a war just over there
But no one has liked this picture of me

I written a clever status that's sure to cause a laugh
I posted it with complete confidence of it's worth
It's been a full day and not a single person cared
And even though it shouldn't, it really hurts

And it's these insipid, inane, insignificant things
That seem so important at the time
That make me stop and seriously ponder:
'Just when exactly did I lose my mind?'

When did I stop caring about that lady on the road?
When did I stop crying over all the deaths?
When did I begin ignoring that beggar?
Rather than give the dollars I had left?

When did I stop putting trash where it belongs?
When did I stop caring about that abandoned dog?
When did I start accepting that 'things won't change'?
Why am I just realizing I've been jaded far too long?

When did Earth become a vessel for my plans
Instead of my greatest comfort?
When did nature stop being my friend
And become leaves and bugs and dirt?

When did creativity become useless
And business begin to rule my brain?
When did fun become a chore?
Now that I must be 'serious and sane'

It's all the little things that made life pretty as a child
It's all the little things I haven't bothered to do once more
And if I just shook off this funk of 'maturity' and 'sensibility'
I dare say it would all come back and once again, I'd soar.

Every little sound.
Every person in sight.
Every shadow in a corner.
Every flicker of a light.

Heart starts racing.
Beating out of the chest.
Sweat down the temples.
Shaking like a wreck.

Tears down the face.
Running out of breath.
Mouth desert dry.
Mind so befret.

This is paranoia.
Every second of every day.
This is what I go through.
The fear that always stays.

This is paranoia.
The terror of simple life.
This is how the years will be lived.
Scared and riddled with strife.

A night that changed the alignments of my stars.
A night that changed the meaning of my existence.
I realised why this universe had made me wait for this.
For this which was so 'ecstatic',
For this which was so 'unsullied'.

I stood on a land of roses
Sky of spring sun
And squall blowing my hair, it's fluanting
It heard someone saying it's the most beautiful thing on Earth.
That was my 'land'.
That was my 'to-be home'.

Bricks of promises
Cement of love
Colours of trust
And furnitures of a bit of lust.
People admired the house
But I loved the land.
It was there all 'lucent'.
It was there all 'proud'.

The spring brought a garden of Tulips
Yellow Daffodils
Purple crocuses
With yellow butterflies crowning them all.
It was the 'bliss'
It was the 'peace'.

In a blink July turned to August.
Skies got harsh on us
Rain washed away the Daffodils
And land got swampier.
My house trembled
Promises broke and love got washed away with rain while trust faded away and lust,
It was just a 'fancy'.
It was just a 'showpiece'.


I was oblivious to the fragility of my house
My brittle house couldn't even withstand the monsoon.
And here I was, befret of my house, my only house.
Weaker than never before, shattered and scattered.
Monsoon went on for long, quite long
Washing away all the cement of my love and hue of trust.
But I was there 'holding the land'.
But I was there 'witnessing the disband'.

Winter came
Froze everything
Nummed my mind
Cracked my skin
And did everything it could to make me leave my land
And I.. I gave in
I left.
But on my way I saw deluged land getting parched.
My land is here
And spring is near.
It was an 'indication'
It was a 'direction'.

Seasons weathered me down
But I planted the bricks again.
But this time it was just a batterd repugnant house.
No colours no furnitures
Just a house.
But it was there
But it was there.