sometimes waves in rage never find their ways,
Like gypsy out of mind, with ramble thougts,
They juggle around and strike the grey shore,in rots....
Wanderer of souls, searchers of light,
Burn and burn, like a wandering moth...
With strange enigmatic gaze ,i look at them, their moves,
The seductive words they uttter, the caressing part they do,
And like a numb statue, i look at the system of life, the flow of desire,
melting under uncontrallable fire...
In a crowd i play on stage. But my eyes are fixed,
On randomness of stalkers moving on bed of hays,...
I wonder how lust control minds, empower the green sign,
And dark clouds never move along above the fragile throne of everyone's mind,
When rain is heavy and shelter itself is drenched with sheer tiredness,
And i as a spectator dance under thunder of clouds,
with gaze fixed on random stalkers in search of dim light....
Hiramalik
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