Zoned

In the midst of the crimson sky,

Through the pavement of darkness,

Filled with no yearn for delight,

Strangling with a single hope to survive,

Heading through the route filled with surprise,

And all ends to that sheer thought,

Which keeps him alive.

Trespassing through every soul in disguise,

Of the culture to whom he was uncharted all along,

With every emotion which drove him

To that zone which he can't ever phantom

Even though he couldn't let go,

Those memories that made him lose control,

To live along with those impeccable souls 

Who gave him what wasn't expected all along.

But can never make a home,

Out of that love and care,

That was divine through every ounce

Of parity which can never be atoned, 

As he was a wanderer of his camouflaged goals.

What if he can survive

And paddle through those very odds

With every stamp that tends to cramp, 

Even if he's not susceptible to his dreary thoughts. 

Still, there's a sliver of hope, 

That he can succumb to every set of qualms, 

Which probes his mother nature all along, 

Just a door away to bear every tort, 

That kept him benched for so long.