I am the wing wounded in the race to beat the life
I have forgotten how to fly
I am a bundle of memory
Recycling its dreams each day
Even though it falls asleep at nights
I am a garden of hope
Thinking too loudly about dreams
Which is yet to come
Meanwhile time is leaking like a fist of sand; Un-lived and untouched
I am life like a detached bureaucracy
Always anxious about efficiency
Even if emotions are blowing like a river
Inside hearts of living organism
I am a modern man
Lost in quest of insatiable name and fame
Like a fiction eclipsing the real blood and flesh
I am a self-centered nature
Away from roots
Wandering in the system of rank and subordination
So as to escape from inherent freedom
I am a joyless player
Like a machine
Capable to produce and consume
Without able to listen the music of birds and rivers
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