Painted ruddy red
Spreading across horizon
Splashed canvas
With colors multitude
The streaks clamor
Story of passion absolute
A sudden recollection
Of bygones
For this is the time
When the mind maneuvers
Over terrains
Of Joys and pain alike
On it's own
By itself
Relaxed it is or is it perplexed?
It knows not!
Flows and flies
With thoughtful juices
Doing rounds the grey cells
Losing self
Or loosing out?
Again,it knows not!
Senses desensualizing sensibilities
Following darken, mesmerized
Sans effectual of conditions
That draweth lines not
And just like a flowing setting sun
Traverses beyond
To a world unknown
For thoughts are unpaid
But,isn't possessing an illusion
Is,in fact,as good as possessing
Nothing at all?
And then,when you lose yourself
To something or someone
You hardly have anything
That you could lose out too!
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