On the sky of human face there are
Flocks of Dark, gloomy clouds of Nostalgia
Gathered and curled in muddled patterns
That strategically complete a human face.
In their own, independently -
The flocks long to soar high in the above open sky.
Would that phenomenon care for the sky?
Would that leave the clear-cut sky in its own way?
Would that foment betwixt I and the sky?
The ceaseless journey of my mind won't stop causing disastrous, untimely tempests.
Ceaseless questions of mind of absurdity being posed without intervals,
All inducing me to become unorganized,
Eventually, leaving me on a massive expanse of a sea called "Consternation".
And all I do is nothing but breathing the sense -
The sense of hope that the inexplicables
That give no tranquility now to mind
Would one day be easy to me,
Possessing all the fitting answers
Which will mercilessly conquer all the questions
Erupted from the heavy doubts of a fractured life.
The engraved letters, symbols and signs of the Past
Would erupt of nowhere in some sleepless night.
Letters and signs and symbols -
Of so delicate that I treasure and cherish always,
Of so cruel and silly and timid and wild,
And of moments of willingness and acquiring Zing.
All would be so fresh and lovely and lively like present,
All would be recalled in my closed eyes,
Wonderfully sweet catastrophic disaster of a sudden, deep introspection of Past!
And for you, Nostalgia!
I would be weeping with few cascading tears;
With an arc of smile curved on my visage
Having my blanket covered all over me.
Oh life !