I might have missed the faces
They have measured my fathoms
Clouds are often misquoted by us
Where are the curtains
I want them to hide my runs
Still awful are my heights
I keep climbing the fallen trees
Gone are the stillness
what we see are no more oceans
Irregular illness, I salute your sadness
For they meet my seasons
I will call letters in charms
It withers often in pipes
fuming eyes, they cling to the hopes
And many more inmates in darkness
I resist the suggestions
Wake up my wounds
You need to remember the wings
They are ever tied to the sins
Trivial problems
They charge my veins
Pointed fingers are never in miss
Change your course, if I confess
Gokul B.Alex
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