Every time he writes about life,
every page feels like a raindrop of history,
every chapter feels like a decade of mixed emotions.
He was lost in a mirror and he tried
Searching for an error,its not
What he found that made him shiver but
The cancer growing inside his liver.
He tried crossing bridges,
He tried lifting fridges,but
All he got was water for bridges
And coldness for fridges.
Indeed the higher you go,the cooler it becomes
But the higher he went,the hotter he felt.
Because in moments of grief,when pain was no
longer an identity,he strived for empathy,
Which is lacking and nobody owns it,
Envy of glittering faces,envy of perfect eyebrows,
Envy of a sharp nose.
Isn’t it ironic how the best of our lifes are the
ones we dare not to live?
How we live a lonely life but have the best circle
Of friends at our funeral?
How we live recklessly but arrive safely to our deaths?
How billions of us exist yet a couple of thousands are living.
The tragedy of humanity is that
we are so fixated to
we forget to embrace
Or most importantly