The nostalgic insomniac

The perfect imperfections of the dawn The sound of a cricket thereupon  He sat on a window sill waiting for it to rain  He rained later on how his efforts were in vain Breathing heavily with the wind in his hair  Faintly aloof from the worlds chaotic affair Wandering through the stars in search of light Wondering at its beauty and trying to reignite  Dead inside. Robotic routine. Blinded by the sight. He was a nostalgic insomniac  Trying to recreate memories of what was lost  He lost himself to the darkness but at what cost? Twinkling stars in the moonlit sky reminded him of rhymes That he had learnt when he wasn't old enough to commit crimes But as he grew older he committed a socially accepted  sin  Stole someones heart but later shadowed away in the dim. Burning inside. Chaotic thoughts. Blinded by the inner voice.  He was a nostalgic insomniac. He forgot his morals along the way  Tryin...

Is it possible to walk again after you pass away ?  Is it possible for the moon to rise on a bright sunny day ? Is it possible for you to grieve about someone you barely know? Is it possible for us to believe in places up above and down below? Answers. That's what everyone is looking for isn't it ? Living every solitary moment with courage and living through it bit by bit . We try to forgive and forget but isn't that at the end of the day what we regret? Life isn't fair they say. Like an oracle they preach who've barely lived a day . When the plane falls even atheists pray. And all those who wander for answers are created by the potter who works with clay. Is it possible for us to change and beautify something our own way? Is it possible for us to smile through a bad day? Is it possible for us to live life that leaves the society with no words to say? Is it possible to walk again after you pass away? Answers. That...

Survival. Existence. Broken bridges.  Is this what life has come down to now?  Victory, Being able to get through it with minimal bruises.  What is the whole point of living this cruelty like a mad cow?  This world is filled with chaos And we've adapted ourselves to accept things with all its flaws. Damaged. Salvaged. Wrecked. Is this how it's supposed to be?  Craving for some space at a faster pace  Trying not to be claustrophobic.  Grinding ourselves to prove to the illusionists That yes, we're worth it. And losing ourselves in this lonely quest  Aren't we all sick? Of all the tits and bits of what's left of our little nest.  Craving to be accepted by the ones who are fighting for their own acceptance.  Does this all make any sense?  The mightier we try to be  The brighter it all seems to be The creation is not the creator's to boast about  It's his work of art that is ac...

3:33 am . She was trying to fight the demons under her  bed. She, Scared of the demons victory over hers wakes up.Sits on a window sill trying to find voices to talk to. 13 floors above the ground in a city that claims it never sleeps. All she wanted was a voice to hold onto and then the cheapest mode of transport came to her rescue. 3:37 am. she heard the horn . 3:41am. she could hear the rails sing along with the birds that whispered their morning prayers. The highways shining bright whilst the Window lights going on and off because of someone trying to quench their thirst. She could see the sea far away but couldn't hear the waves. Someone who might have heard her inner cry for peace made it rain. Trying to make her feel close to the sea. She could hear the leaves dancing and rustling. Streetlight. A defective street light faraway made her believe that life was like that ray of dim light.  Trying hard to shine but never enough to make this city brighter.  T...