The Soul Slumbers

Walking on the heals of woes.

Peeping through the windows,

Bleeding along with the red sun -

Can I say I am done?

Living in the rusted school benches,

Grieving for the office desks,

Leaving my twilight alone for dusks.

Can I declare I am weak?

Sewing a dream of happiness,

In the colour of a million rainbow -

And getting pricked in the same machine.

Can I say I am different?

Painting a paper of mind

For the colours to bloom

And then pouring a black to make it a grey.

Can I say I am moody?

Trying hard to cope.

But feeding all my guilts -

Still striving for peace.

Can I say I am flawed?

The history of my woes 

Challenges the systems of number

I wish my mind could slumber.

Can I say I am a complaint box?

I am an open book,

Failed a lifetime in front of death to life.

Can I say I am nothing,

But a mass of imperfections.