Who am I, but a soulful mist
Trapped in the cage of time,
Clutching the rusting bars of the cage
With old, gnarled fingers
Looking at the world with poor eyes and parched lips
That only knows to smile a faint smile.
At mad men, colourful women
Pulps of power and lust
Driven by a colourful rainbow of lies.
At people who celebrate their lives
With confettis and balloons and smiles,
When miles and miles deep down them
They know, yet know not,
That too they are trapped
In brittle cages like mine.
For there is and has never been,
None ever, escaping out from
The cages of time.