The Wrong...

I was carrying a white flag down to the ground,

Conch shells and abundant screams emanate from the town,

There were bodies and a multitude of wounds,

Why didn’t I run! The battle was over,

Too late... too sober...

Wrong time.

I was breathing fire in a bright young morning,

A gait so pleasant out of years of training,

To give it all out to the beggar at the foggy corner,

Or buy a birthday present for a friend,

To be forgiven or be God-send,

Wrong decision.

I was sharing stories of my own pages,

Talking like I have never for ages,

But words seem to fade away before he can try to listen,

Silence or penning it down,

All better ways to avoid that frown,

Wrong person.

Sitting idle in a highway bar,

The last peg still didn’t heal my scar,

Should have been home with dreams to sing along,

And here all the clouds that are so stark,

Mock me wild in the dark,

Wrong place.

So,

Heaps of ash and fallen petals,

Piled up in a story of black irony,

That my soul resumes following the same rituals,

To live in laughter that facades the agony,

In a perfectly sane world with nothing to hide,

The predator and prey take the same ride,

And I have seen every bit of the wrong that I am,

Slithering in duties that add to every gram,

The credit rolled before I knew it,

Went to liar who seemed most fit,

Deny, denied,

Can’t deny!

No more can I try...

For all the time, people and places there was nothing I could see,

Funny, this life never belonged to me...