Prompt scribbling!!

 

If I was not a poet,
I must be living in another life
dealing with flavors
in monotonous way,
tied in glory of fame.
There won't be much to wander
beyond life and death
and at 3 a.m.
city looks pale, in depth!

I must be lost,
among people of assorted thoughts, carrying thousands of opinions
there won't be much to observe, under bushes and shadows
windows looks unamusing,
and train moves without any pace of chilled haste,
unclear and untuned with cursed pitch.
Books seem useless, every time
and song becomes oblivious, for nothing.
I wouldn't remember the tunes of wind,
yellow birds and their crisp chirps,
cold feelings and breakups
cute cats and pups.

I must be loony
riding without words, in the hell
There won't be love around
to relish and adore.
There won't be someone
who give hand to walk with,
and shoulder to cry on.

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