I talk. I talk to the sea or the mountains or a pillar or a tree but not you Because I've this fear of
being right or wrong, fear of being judged, being labeled. I'd say and
I'd regret, or may be I fear of being misunderstood. No, may be not
being understood at all. May be I told you everything and you loved me
for being me, But then you never wanted me to be me. I need to stay
silent but I crave to speak. No I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to
myself. This is getting oblique, I've to stop. Forget it, it's nothing.
There lies in the past
A lost story
The story of a dreamer
The withered dreams.
There lies in the present
A vague story
The story of a wanderer
The lonely path.
There lies in the future
An unknown story
The story of the fallen
The undefined destiny.