Sunday, October 23, 2011

Random Pulses of the Commotion

Wings high above in the sky,
the thrust of the engine and clouds starts to fly,
You sit idle in search for a moment,
All ever man has only looked for a bagfull off entertainment,

Bright lights big cities, everything is so small from above,
all one can wonder is their is a very shallow distance below,
points to ponder, moments so stronger,
you mortal, you think you are the only one smart.

now that the night crawled in ,
the wound are still afresh deep beneath that skin,
they pledge us they define the randomness of the ocassion,
I could never get hold off the cravings and their tingling sensations

Branded by the golden demeanour of the society,
the well is too far son, to wait for the formality,
pinchingly bitter truth may or indeed will strike you,
Water will spill off from the glass, until you want it to.

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