Another morning,
Arrives veiled in apparently wakeful consciousness
Painfully poking, pursuing me to enjoy mundane tasks of my corporate existence,
Forcing me into doctored use of my vocabulary and intelligence,
I fall a prey to directionless meandering, whiling away minutes
cheating my conscience,
I want to escape,
For I too am a Papillon but without his guts,
To defy the comforts of my speculative future
Not realizing loss of precious pearls of present slipping through my
gullible fingers
I know I am gonna live only once,
And I am losing my conviction and voice
Will I get out of this rut
And feel the freedom of the sky, the earth, and the company of dear ones?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good write freedom is nice but while here it is what you make it 10