Rain drops on roof top clamor,
My thoughts, they tend to wander.
Amidst the calm night,
I hear myself fight.
The unknown, disfigured battles,
Making me weak, as my faith rattles.
Trying myself to break free, to liberate,
But my thoughts, they entangle, and don’t percolate.
My fingers ruffle the hair with discomfort,
I heave for breath, thinking of rebirth.
Fingers curl to form fists,
Strong knuckles ready to send someone into fits.
Am I someone crawling in my skin,
Executing things on someone’s din?
Want to read similar posts?
2 thoughts on “Sometimes, I’m Not”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks a lot Himanshu. I’m glad you resonated with the thought