I know, without a doubt,
Of a prisoner inside of me,
I am a jailbird,
Twenty-five to life
No possibility of parole,
I still maintain my innocence - it wasn't me
All I ever did was not consenting to be born
I know, without a doubt,
Of a prisoner inside of me,
I am a jailbird,
Twenty-five to life
No possibility of parole,
I still maintain my innocence - it wasn't me
All I ever did was not consenting to be born
looking back,
it is amazing how I thought
of the vast opportunities that lay before my eyes,
I stood atop a mountain and gazed down
at the beautiful and rolling fields,
all for me to conquer
but then life happens,
I realised that it is unfair
and I never accepted it,
I haven't still.
often, when there seems to be no way,
and as sure as the sun will go down,
a silent prayer, 'please let it be today'
but there it remains - the same old frown
the stomach grumbles with discontent
there hasn't been much to munch,
each passing hour increases resent
of the discarded food and free lunch
there is nothing to enjoy - not a movie,
not that favourite song, not nothing,
the pangs increase, gravel would taste like gravy
at least it would be better than nothing
and then, stuck in a web of gloom
nothing ever comes to your mind
everything seemed crammed a tiny room
you search, but there is nothing to find
the more your laughter drifts further,
the more this life becomes a puzzle,
and in the bustling bubble of happy people,
the more I am struck by the significance of
of both your absence and presence
in spaces that the world chokes with its
bubble, hustle, and needless cheer,
in the crowds that passes us by,
in the crowds that make the world vast
desolate,
in the darkest hours that the sun
is never willing to be a conspirator,
we ride the rhythms of our favourite songs
because, in the end, music is all we got
buried deep,
buried in untouchable place,
buried in places where no amount of pain can
reach,
buried in sacred places inside us.
there are songs that we tend to personalize
as if the artistes sung them just for us,
they are some sort of cherished possessions,
and when the come through the speakers,
they awaken a memory,
that ferries us to a distant island,
we rise, we soar, we glide
through the rhythm,
and when we get to the island,
we sit back and soak in the memory,
right there, at that moment of impeccable solitude,
nothing matters - not money, not riches
just the pure bliss of knowing that no one else
will ever know the purity of a simple song.
We stood by the precarious edge of adulthood,
Stole a glance at its ever inviting abyss,
We counted days, months, years at that day,
The day we would take a plunge into
the ever secretive world - the world
barricaded by adults