There ain’t nothing, this or that,
There ain’t no shore, here or there,
There ain’t no one, now or then,
For I’m a bastard of lost dreams.
Bring me a toy of vibrant hue,
To the beaches I ain’t sunbathed,
To build castles of loose sands,
For I’m a clown in the circus of life.
Bring me a tome, forget its genre,
To the shades of trees I ain’t slept,
To comprehend chapter I ain’t read,
For I’m a student of passion unlived.
Bring me a prayer mat, old or new,
To the shrines I ain’t sauntered,
To say prayers I ain’t learnt,
For I’m an orphan of broken faith.
Bring me a wind, gentle or fierce,
To the peaks I ain’t scaled,
To croon verses I ain’t jolted,
For I’m a piper of sour notes.
Bring me a cloth, black or white,
To the morgue I haven’t slept,
To feel warmth life ain’t gifted,
For I’m a martyr of unsaid love.
Bring me a flower, lilies or roses,
To the mount soaked in tears,
To feel petals I ain’t smelled,
For I’m a peddler of eternal desires.
No shores or meadows to stroll,
No music or lullabies to hear,
No nectar left to taste, I lie in the
Cradle of love, breastfed by my follies.
