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