in the yesteryears;
when my existence wore
the innocent frock of carelessness,
groomed in the desert of illusion;
those drunken souls of -
the misguided crowd of life,
were humming about love
in the highest dissonant symphony.
It hypnotized my ears
And lurked my naive heart
To weave some sullen expectations
from some beauteous treachery.
My naive heart was stunned
by the infedility of the beauteousness -
That decked my heart with laceration.
After some countable Autumn
And unforgettable Spring,
My heart died,
By nourishing its grief.
I am truding this barren of existence
With the burden of remorse -
That has, now, started stinking.