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The Gray Days...

 

Why everything right turns out at the wrong time… What is the reason of this life, where which way to turn only comes up when we have lost the path…

We lie, we do not regret, all our memories are nothing but those regrets. Which haunt us. Which we latter live in our imagination.

Like those dark clouds, comes a feeling where nothing is worth, and everything is absurd. Where comes an understanding that being with self is the last man standing. Where comes a notion that we are not suitable for any human relation.

Nothing is correct around us, yet we are that posture of imperfectness. Nothing is known what has come up, how these situations are formed and what from?

A cage of self-imprisonment, where rudeness, ignorance is the only sent. Such are the way that these feelings could not be vent out. They linger, hover, and sometimes become grave than ever.

Is this because of the change in the way sky has come up? Is this because of the way sun hides now? Or because of those chilly wind, or because of the moonless glint, for the way surrounding have been nothing can be hint…

Nothing is good, even the beautiful is ugly… ways and means of life are such pity… No matter whatever comes everything is shitty…

These are not the dark days, they are not light either they are gray, neither falling for happiness nor they stay sad. How bad? Where dying are the days of such lonely nobody can understand rather you only…  

All that was stable, will be ruined and all that was already ruined will be dusted away. Can there be a hide out. Where on such days nothing is been bother and nothing is been disturbed…

Why humans? Why not those lone wolves. Why among the society and what reason have we been there, here why? What can be a role of such a person who is clueless among the other of how to be in a relation…

No way can we be cured, where hatred is among the shore, where water rise and make it wet, but sun dries it up even before that. How those stones have been among or in the water but never we to the core…  

Far better to be with self than with people of the worldly dome, repeating the repeated things like a foam…   

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