To tell the story of all the times,

Toxin of footsteps in sun and rain,

Some days, Of the stale rhymes, 

Through the perennial fiction.

Take someone who doesn't keep score,
Who's not looking to be richer, or afraid of losing,
Who has not the slightest interest even
in his own personality: he's free.

- Rumi

We have outgrown from our fairy tale lands,

Intertwined hands, watching our castle of dreams built in the sand,

At the farewell , I just couldn't bring myself to cry,

Who knew we would raise our hands to say goodbye.

Memories when usher sleepless night,

The patches of unheard pain flickers in light,

The silence of hope windchime sings,

Soothing complexion of stillness it brings.

 

Something is wrong , I know but what?
Million tales which are not enough,
I don't feel anything , am i hypocrite?
For i wear several faces and sometimes it is rough.