"Careless"
They have named me.
And I don't really care.
Are they right?
I am not wrong, I know.
I walk on the streets
At my own pace.
No hurry to reach home.
Who is waiting there for me?
I dream, quietly,
And I let them remain dreams.
Sometimes,
I think of my old school bag,
To put all my dreams in it,
And throw it away.
I haven't reached home yet,
And I don't feel like walikng,
I want to sleep.
Where?
Where the dreams lie.
On orphaned footpath,
In bloomin buds,
Bellow beckoning moon,
On gold beaches,
On blue silver waves in sea.
Am I careless?
Ask them.
They care, not me.
And when I die,
Tell them to inscribe,
On my grave-
"NEVER TRY".
1 comment:
hi ! very good post again.
simplicity reigns here with the deep reflections of a dreamer.
I did not get the last line though(guess the summers have drenched my brain dry).
keep this style intact.
cheers !
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