Yesterday when I was picking
my scattered pieces ,
I found a little girl peeping at me
from a distance.
Whenever I looked at her ,
she hid herself into shadows.
As I moved towards her
she vanished like an incense!
I couldn't see her eyes,
but she seemed sad and helpless.
Maybe she wanted help,
maybe she was scared of me.
Maybe she was curious ,
maybe she was lost .
But she was lost into shadows so dark,
lost into the deepness of depths.
Wonder why at such tender years
she cried such prayers.
Instead of playing in meadows
she grew in congested debts.
She left me guessing about her
too many questions without any answer.
Those eyes , trying to reach my soul
and trembling fingers in want of a shoulder.
Dear child, I am a grown up poor
My poverty is so filthy noxious and noisome it will ruin your innocence , little bud.
Here dreams are scratched,
blessings are scribbled,
voices are stabbed,
and life is so celebrated
with cakes and pastries,
infested with ironical toppings;
with colours of grey mauve beige and blue
and suddenly piano turns to violin.
Little girl , believe me this is not your place.
Those shadows are much better
than my world of sharpness.
Hide princess, into some dark castle of puzzling path,
and save yourself from the twines and vines of hedonic virtues.
Yesterday when I was picking
my scattered pieces ,
I found a little girl peeping at me
from a distance.
Whenever I looked at her ,
she hid herself into shadows.
As I moved towards her
she vanished like an incense!
I couldn't see her eyes,
but she seemed sad and helpless.
Maybe she wanted help,
maybe she was scared of me.
Maybe she was curious ,
maybe she was lost .
But she was lost into shadows so dark,
lost into the deepness of depths.
Wonder why at such tender years
she cried such prayers.
Instead of playing in meadows
she grew in congested debts.
She left me guessing about her
too many questions without any answer.
Those eyes , trying to reach my soul
and trembling fingers in want of a shoulder.
Dear child, I am a grown up poor
My poverty is so filthy noxious and noisome it will ruin your innocence , little bud.
Here dreams are scratched,
blessings are scribbled,
voices are stabbed,
and life is so celebrated
with cakes and pastries,
infested with ironical toppings;
with colours of grey mauve beige and blue
and suddenly piano turns to violin.
Little girl , believe me this is not your place.
Those shadows are much better
than my world of sharpness.
Hide princess, into some dark castle of puzzling path,
and save yourself from the twines and vines of hedonic virtues.
