The morning seems dull and dusky

Beneath the brain lies a tomb of creativity

Nothing stirs my sensitivity

A subtle sense of sadness and an ecstasy

Squeezed into a solid stone as a sanity

There is a lazy sun behind the cloud in the sky

The fog in my brain doesn’t let me fly high

The calm and composed cloud is in hang-over

The cold wind of the winter whispers in my ear

There you are- in the month of October

The cold will be the winter

Returning back same as before

You can’t blame me for my nature

Swallow a shallow heart and pride

Don’t toil to cover what you can’t hide