Series of thoughts entangle the wits;
As if wound by thousand unseen knots.
Blindfolded to perceive anything,
Dumb I go, unable to utter a thing.
Perhaps an intuition;
May be a game of illusion;
Or, in this play (life) without a retake,
I fall upon another mistake.
Here and there, while all around I forage,
Everything else seems mere mirage.
Through the roads I have walked down,
Transform you to an unclaimed possession.
To pen what thunders from inside,
No, I have no courage.
With no guts to be aloud and roar
Hope you get what I take you for.