...Of Modern times and a vagabond
How much can you trace back
in one moment?
May be a mile.
Memories are not measured by units.
Today there are no more sad lines.
We will talk about the wine that is
buried in your backyard.
We will talk about the graffiti
that I am yet to construct.
These days art has a new name - photoshop.
You can buy yours with a quick few clicks.
I am half drunk.
The other half is life.
With that I lie in a dark room
and listen to a music that is soft
but deafening.
Most relations are, the same.
Pretension has its perimeters.
They are weak when you are.
On one such moment,
you do things that you never regret.
People change, so do leaves.
You wait.
Give me a hundred good dreams.
I will sleep deep, then.
SoUmY@
in one moment?
May be a mile.
Memories are not measured by units.
Today there are no more sad lines.
We will talk about the wine that is
buried in your backyard.
We will talk about the graffiti
that I am yet to construct.
These days art has a new name - photoshop.
You can buy yours with a quick few clicks.
I am half drunk.
The other half is life.
With that I lie in a dark room
and listen to a music that is soft
but deafening.
Most relations are, the same.
Pretension has its perimeters.
They are weak when you are.
On one such moment,
you do things that you never regret.
People change, so do leaves.
You wait.
Give me a hundred good dreams.
I will sleep deep, then.
SoUmY@
Comments
Reminds me a bit , just a little minuscule bit of "Tonight I write the saddest lines..."
The tone of nostalgia, coupled with melancholy and an anticipated rush of something akin to hope... all merge beautifully while retaining, each, its own singular presence!