Unto dust we shall return
The walls are closing in. It’s a strange feeling of comfort. Of security.
It’s when you’re huddled in the corner, scraping paint off the walls, the nails bleached in red and afraid of the knob.
When there’s nothing left, but to accept your plight. You smile at the darkness filling your soul. With the walls, you no longer fight
Let the doors remain sealed, and the wisp has been squeezed. The wax melting off the walls, sorrow will dance among the halls.
Children run, they don’t see the place. It’s time to celebrate. Another spirit freed from slavery. Another captive set free.
The free are the ones that are bound, the children will weep a thousand lives and you’ll be nowhere to be found.
They’ll call and cry and shout your name. But, silence will be their reply. They’ll wish for old times to resurrect. But all in vain.
Withering in pain, you watch in vain. They go mute in screams; you walk along the void with the stars extinguished from light.
Watch the sun set on the boulevard. Watch them retreat in their houses.
You are going home.
— Varun & Mitchelle
This is an amalgamation of a random conversation we both had. It’s the musings of our hearts. It paints a picture. And each of you will be able to see a different story. Hope you guys like this effort. We’ll work on some more. Cheers!
Checkout Varun’s other works on http://www.lightningforthelame.blogspot.in/