A frail leaf in the bosom of the lush metropolis,
So far in the eyes of thy own, we have been flawless.
Can you hear the crying wind?
Oh so mischievously engulfed by the hush-hush sounds of a newborn’s voices,
And the fading mirth, all together shunned.
Many an instance comes and goes when the time to react has just begun.
Breathing quickly dissolves only a fraction of the initial misery,
Like the very heart in a burning rotisserie,
In solitude with which you will understand this clear-cut gaucherie,
Because our existence has become a mere live adaptation of forgery.
Golden honey drops, reminiscent of the early morning dew,
All things nice, showing signs of a mirrored blue
Why end it so soon and why then begin at all?
Doubts emerge while Innocence casts a nervous glance back and forth
She beckons a new tomorrow, overlooking the dreary façade of the earthly milieu.