Indescision is not my forte, an ill-adventure is a mere perplexity.
To cry a river over the mis-fortunes written in the rocks;
A hopelessness of the decree hardened by a lack of will.
I am, but one of the casuality—the river that roared fiercely,
never ran away from me.

I could not move a muscle for the want of you,
that you stood so close to me, yet a thousand seas away from me;
calling my name, but in fear, i pretend
my audio disabilty.

Cowardice is what holds me back,
making my wrteched soul as one among the angry mobs
of destroying graves of those who lived entirety in worship
of bunring houses for those forsaken by You

Oh you, the Cruel one,
never could understand the minuscule me,
for you are not made by the light
you just always were;
but merely made into what my compatriots made you
and called you God

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