Face to face with Illusion

I'd a strange feeling. Not a prison, but I couldn't move. The inability, the dependency which was unprecedented in it's vigor and perceptibility. It, surely, didn't feel right.

Allow me to walk on love
If not drinking, just showering my blood
To wash the dark stains
Of fears, confusions and unlovely world


A sudden pain strikes. It's not just a desire to hide, to run away, but a larger quest to make an attempt to leave the delicate being with minimum bruises. I've my limitation, I've my capacity. My imagination tortures my feelings and forbids me to put forward a hand which can go through any intensity of fire. O Dear! do not understand it to be the lack of desire. It's the wild game, perhaps. There's nothing which lies beyond your sight, I am standing all naked. I'm a little tired now, and need some rest. You can take all which is mine but peace of mind. I need it.


This is strange. Really. I am not lying. It's really strange. Now it's due to self-inflicted suffering, or the faith in the insensitivity of the volatile other self, or just the cold which can be quite depressing.

But, I hope...