Looking At Me

When I look at him
All I see is anger and passion.
But those wet eyes
Do say a story known to none.
Those clenched hands,
Once held her so tight.
And for her could kill and pain someone
With all their might.

And yet again all he can do is scream.
Just to question why life is not a dream.
Full of labour, pain and tears,
Despair, anger, blood and fears.
Is a silhouette that I see,
When I am looking at me.

Tensed and sweaty is the chest
On which once rested that enchanting face.
Enclosed within the leadened shield
Is a heart which could never guess.
That all the sapiens
Played with it a dirty game.
And those very thoughts
Make it burst into a flame.

And yet again all he can do is scream.
Just to question why life is not a dream.
Full of labour, pain and tears,
Despair, anger, blood and fears.
Is a silhouette that I see,
When I am looking at me.

The furrowed forehead
Has all the ups and downs he had to face.
And his unkempt hair is
Nothing less than a maze.
A maze through which he has to find
The path to nirvana.
And be at the highest cliff,
Facing the Sun as he wanna.

And yet again all he can do is scream.
Just to question why life is not a dream.
Full of labour, pain and tears,
Despair, anger, blood and fears.
IS a silhouette that I see,
When I am looking at me.

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