I can't tell everyone, but atleast I can tell me....or perhaps a dead part of me...
It was some good Ten or eleven years ago You broke free from This cocoon of innocence; Lifted your feathers, One, two, three.....then all- And off you flew ! Never to be seen again.
I knew I couldn't; Stop you from leaving, Nor it should've been right, For you to stay; In this world that didn't Deserve you any day.
Naught has really changed Much since you left. We still fight and kill, The breathing beings still dead. They'd have killed you too, Sooner or later, yet someday. Bereft of humanity, they live, Humans do they call themselves; For nothing else would Suffice to heave- Their amour propre anyway.
As I sit inside my chamber, Thinking of you, like everyday; I decide to write you a letter Hoping to feel your presence Yet in the most delusory of ways. And like everyday, I fail, Knowing not what to write. What could I tell you, That'd make you; At the very least, Want to live here again.
I try writing a letter But it turns into a poem I try reading the poem But it turns into a song And I can't sing.
Now as I look back At this world without you, I feel empty. Walking the brown sands are; Some sentient entities, Alive as of yet, Still struggling to be humans. They carry about their frames, Knowing it all through- The transience of life, as it's said; Yet never realizing What in sooth, Being human is.. . We are all somewhat dead, aren't we ??