Back in the days, when I as well as every other individual lived a less intelligent life, things were pretty easy as either black or white. Now we all have discovered the gray and the various shades of gray (Also 50 shades of grey; pun intended). I feel time has sat itself on a roller coaster and is now hurriedly making its way through the end.
What started as a fun journey has now become one of the twisted tales we all would ever make through.
Generally, we all have been through times that could be categorized as either ups, downs or loops in turns.
She has it in her hands, the card of memoir,
The rear shows white, the face is a reservoir,
Of the days of history, those memories are preserved.
In a picture of past with secrecy and, reserved.
From the times when a girl with a young angelic face,
With glittery eyes under the sun, she wandered the place,
Her charm so deep, reflecting opaque specks of naive,
She sauntered there while radiating an image of belief.
Oh, how she was smiling still, intending before her,
Even when she didn’t know whose intensity will see it later.
Above are the eyes of hawk, remembering the reason,
Rummaging the points, those were good being frozen.
For now the knowing eyes, invading the knowing scene,
In the lost eyes, which dreamed the future unforeseen.
Never knew the time ahead would turn out like now,
But the soil of stated would only be ploughed.
The urge to erase it down is hidden inside and beneath,
The heart that wants to reverse the dawn of truth,
Wished she could be the same, like the smile in frame,
Not the current hollow eyes with an identical name.