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I don't know. How I started hating the warm l

I don't know. How I started hating the warm light of cold sun. It irritates, forcefully enter in room of my eyes, draw curtains from window. Every rays cracks my tear's flaw, make them glistening over my iris. About the past life or cursed history or abyssopelagic smile. I thought I am falling in love but I was unaware that love was engulfing me. And in between this all, I am lying on floor and trying to find the lost pieces of my incomplete puzzle. Green fern and Moses is what my eyes can see, on the floor. Making it greasy where I always fall. Everytime, I give blame to my paralyzed feets. Weaving thread of blasphemy in my poetry. It is mountain of hatred, black, auburn volcano surrounded or touch of nightmare. Witnessed the bombarding of missiles on this fern through my bared eyes. Blood-soaked white burqa, half staled bread grabbed in trembling hand, strange mayhem caged in scrawny rib cage, underneath a car bonnet, teary eyes searching for the breath of closed ones. Not knowing it is already mixed in wind of sacrifice. I asked her,"where is your mother, small kid?" "She gone in garden to pluck flowers" she said in fear. "Oh!! To decorate your hair, I guess" I tried to give positive hopes in this bloodshed time. "No, to keep the flowers on the grave of my father" Same moon, I see, spreading her gleaming rays. Somewhere the ray is dancing in felicity of lover and somewhere it is crying in war. Plays of metaphors often creates hallucination in our eyes. Extreme hubristic too. Like in the story of Mr. Winston Churchill. Thought he can win Gallipoli. However in result, eight month long battle took half of millon's life. Tho, he knew profailantism and became one of the greatest leader too. Still thousand of people's epitaph made his name engraved on the wall of success. Same blood. One ruling over and another ruled over.
I don't know. How I started hating the warm light of cold sun. It irritates, forcefully enter in room of my eyes, draw curtains from window. Every rays cracks my tear's flaw, make them glistening over my iris. About the past life or cursed history or abyssopelagic smile. I thought I am falling in love but I was unaware that love was engulfing me. And in between this all, I am lying on floor and trying to find the lost pieces of my incomplete puzzle. Green fern and Moses is what my eyes can see, on the floor. Making it greasy where I always fall. Everytime, I give blame to my paralyzed feets. Weaving thread of blasphemy in my poetry. It is mountain of hatred, black, auburn volcano surrounded or touch of nightmare. Witnessed the bombarding of missiles on this fern through my bared eyes. Blood-soaked white burqa, half staled bread grabbed in trembling hand, strange mayhem caged in scrawny rib cage, underneath a car bonnet, teary eyes searching for the breath of closed ones. Not knowing it is already mixed in wind of sacrifice. I asked her,"where is your mother, small kid?" "She gone in garden to pluck flowers" she said in fear. "Oh!! To decorate your hair, I guess" I tried to give positive hopes in this bloodshed time. "No, to keep the flowers on the grave of my father" Same moon, I see, spreading her gleaming rays. Somewhere the ray is dancing in felicity of lover and somewhere it is crying in war. Plays of metaphors often creates hallucination in our eyes. Extreme hubristic too. Like in the story of Mr. Winston Churchill. Thought he can win Gallipoli. However in result, eight month long battle took half of millon's life. Tho, he knew profailantism and became one of the greatest leader too. Still thousand of people's epitaph made his name engraved on the wall of success. Same blood. One ruling over and another ruled over.
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