Melancholy

I'm a big city of melancholy

Decorated with mediocre habitats

Of dreams which are destined to

Be neglected amid the vain

Crowds of time;

And my heart is an effigy of stone

Painted in the colours of grief from which

You better not hope for a kiss of love

For it has unlearned the language of reciprocation long back;

For now, it will merely hurt

Your tender lips

Or may irreparably shatter your

Heart of Crystal.

They say dreamers like me

Are escapists of reality for

They carry their dreams

Like an old book hides a withered

Rose in between its torn pages just

To inject some hopeless hope in

The reader's vein that once

The rose was pretty alive

And if it is brave enough to endure

This autumn,

On another fine winter morning, it might bloom again but it never does like the half-dead dreams in a dreamer's eyes.

Because everyone has left 

But someone left after giving her the shoulder to lean on 

However, I believe beings like me are

Purely arts of their choices

For they choose to roam amid

The little selfishness and

Complete selflessness only to

Spend a lifetime of regret;

And when their corpses are inhumed

With their incomplete dreams,

Their graves give birth to an alternate universe which becomes home to

Their subsequent generations and

Promises to supply oxygen to

Their dreams forever.