Pen it Down
A wanderer
Walking through the stratums of incertitude
Dubious of his destiny
He keeps moving and going
Life
Like the thread on the ground
Keeps twisting and turning
Heads up
Eyes straight
He keeps pulling the thread
Untwisting and unfolding
And Straightening it up
It’s what he is to do.
It’s what the destiny wants him to do.
Carving his own paths.
Smoking the soul in the dead.
Repined from the Isles of mind
Rendered by the curse of insomniac nights
I walk alone in this dark alley
With a torch in my hand
I know not, if I’ll find that Gold
For I have been in these streets before
And always returned impoverished
The address delivered to me is always changed
New houses, new shacks and quarters, I find
Every time I take a turn
The gangling structures of unfathomable desires
The dark moats of untrenching expectations
The rocketing skies of spindling hopes
All of them throw a string around my neck
And pull, whenever they want
The torch in my hands, drops
The shackles of these unprecedented games
Trick me, and I fall
Every single time.
But not anymore
For the strings attached
Will be cut with a knife concealed in my sleeve
And I’ll pick up that torch again
To find that lost treasure
To scavenge my inner peace