Serendipity

Of all the love,

The hate,

And the laughs;

All the belongingness;

Realities, sorrow,

The knowns and the unknowns;

And of all the stories

That turn to epitaph,

Give me back

My share of truth,

The part irresistible,

The part unattended,

Give me back

My silent fidelity,

Shattered by the reverberating vocals,

The words that lost meaning,

The words ostracized.

Freedom,

If effortlessly gifted in the hands

Of some plastic powers,

Brings the suicidal death,

Inching towards you every second,

For the dream of rationality

Is a long lost memory,

When coupled with ideologies

Of a chaotic society,

That desires nothing but

Atrociously sculptured rules and norms,

Hiding the truth,

Hiding the real and

Painting the colours that suit

The eyes,

The colour of oppression,

The colour of wars,

Shades of lies,

Running over

Pale white truth.

In blowing winds

And hovering cotton,

The feeble chirps

And human noises,

The routine portrayal,

In serendipity,

In small towns and big skyscrapers,

Truth exists implicitly,

Framed with a cellophane around,

Illegal to manoeuvre and

Ineligible to keep a point,

Like a growing teenager

With sensible answers,

Yet ignored 'cause it hinders

The cycle of elderly narcissism

It's bleeding with the blood of

Honesty and reality,

So let me be free,

Of every rule and promise,

Of love and hate,

Of lies and conditions

And give me back,

My share of life.