In the inside of head, there are photographs,
A tapestry of memories displayed in art,
The art of sewing parts of memories to form the reality again,
To re live them, to be entertained with those feelings of
dancing in the rain,
Rain of happiness and contentment which drives to live those moments once again,
But when the visualising stops, reality forces to meet pain.
Knocked out of the senses, concussions takes somewhere unknown,
Dark and hollow places where mysteriously sights are impaired, clarity is never shown.
Vague and foggy, but clearly it paints translucent images,
It's like a dream inside a dream with memories as the pages.
The feelings are the words, which squeal to speak out,
They yield to break out to make changes somehow,
Even an unconscious soul can hear them in ranges.
Because of this, two souls have grown apart,acting like strangers.
But somehow the feelings don't reach out,
It's either misinterpreted, or never spelled out.
It's never heard, but what's heard is not felt,
Some words blatantly yell, while some remain in closets.
The shelves cannot open themselves, it seeks for someone to succour,
the feelings from the inside doors which utter,
Someone to adore, someone to trust
someone to vent out on, to pour out like a bud,
opening up, and moves forward to become a flower,
but without the light, it falls down in the bower,
The feelings mutter but 'mumbles' are misinterpreted as being fumbled,
and hence is unclear to comprehend, reality is outnumbered.
To express themselves out, to clear out the misunderstandings,
Yet ego is a sycophant which steers itself towards mishappenings.
Mishandling, mishaps, which breeds assumptions and conclusions,
And cancels outs the strength of truth and happiness and forces to succumb,
To negativity, and unwillingly the growth dies,
The bridge breaks and falls into the void of lies.
And then what? The ego wins and therefore advances,
To favour negativity before feelings could have chances,
To explain or express or connect,
now everything is completely a mess,
Everything was built with efforts which were phenomenally the best,
Now everything fades away, just like an aimless boat in a river,
With a sinkhole in itself, it waits to drown or be submerged quicker.