We all live in a house---
Which has no breath and life..
The walls are wide and coloourful
Yet they seem moribund..
We named it our rooms,
And I call it as the tavern of
sorrows
It has four ends-vivid shapes..
Rectangular , square and hexoganal.
Yes we made it for us,,in our own
choice.
Because we all simply in love with
this arid nest.
Yes we are in love,,,love with this
lifeless snobbish thing.
Which has no life ..without our
laughter and sighs..
Whispers and secret but hot tears.
Poor being,,the house..how
pathetic,,,
It cannot survive without us..until
it being a debri.
We hide our identity in the inner
force..
Under the surveilance of an unseen
entity..
We live like an intruder who tries to
tresspasses
The forbidden line of control.{ LOC }
Like a coward we shut the door with
great fear..
Always finds an unfind shadow is behind
us.
We live like a haunted and wanted
suspect.
Yes ,why we shut the door and sit
inside…
We really dwell in fearful fear..
Fears every one and every thing on
our wayward life
Because we have to and we love to
live…
Till eternity., through the
sufferings…
Which is habitual and we don’t want
to
Dig the nuggets of reasons,,
Our reasoning is a broken windo pane.
It is there ,,for us ,to maintain our
house
The much loved and abandoned one…
Our house which we ourselves refuses
to
Make it as a home………
