My table lamp is lit with the light that you had set burning inside me when you left.
My pen is filled with the ink you had spilled on the canvas that had me and you in it……..
I don’t want to be the second Guy,
The ones those simmer the cry,
The ones those remain there,
The ones those never get there,
They do things that pleases a soul,
Turn down themselves, may bear a foul,
The ones that sing and laugh and frown,
Nurture them like a gaurdian grown,
The ones those hear them cry,
Want to hug but never try,
They stand at every line,
Carry them whenever nothing is fine,
But the second guy always loses the baton,
Lets the first, become a mason,
They hope someday they will win the battle,
The rules are clearly not mentioned,
The second guy always loses the battle,
They throw themselves in oblivion,
Think Of the past,
Remember their chatters,
Worry for them far too matters,
But the second guy remains the second guy,
A friend in need,
But a lover never indeed.
Another night on the streets, wandering to find myself, seeking what’s been lost in these streets, loud, shrieking yet calm, soothing and a scene so beautiful….