a promise is a promise, no matter how embarrassing this is

when i close my eyes i see the world in vivid colours. i know, i know, it does not make sense. perhaps i am a born impressionist, for i see the leaves colour in golds and silvers like fairytales, and when i fall back into my bed i see the world like a surrealist painting, all blurred colours and distortion and yet so beautiful that it takes my breath away. light splinters, breaks into a thousand million rainbows and awash the walls with colours, but then-
i open my eyes

there's no song for a loner who walks his own road, because such a loner needs no song. the song he sings is in his own heart, and when he reaches out a hand it is not for help for companionship, it is simply an action; a gesture. perhaps he reaches out for the apple in the tree, or a pomegranate seed. do not chain him down just because he holds out a hand for you to hold; not because his hand is so warm that it sends shivers down your spine, and when you look into his well-deep eyes you fall and fall and can't wake up. do not chain down a lone wanderer, for when you try to, he stops being the man you love. you did not fall in love with a man who can be chained down - you fell in love with a free spirit, a falcon soaring the skies and when you collared the falcon- what then, do you love it for, once its freedom is chained?

let me go, let me free, let me try to dream and keep hold of my dreams in this world.

there's no colours in the wind unless there are leaves caught in it, blowing and fighting against the turbulence. there is no colours in water either, but water and wind has the ability to capture light, capture us and it is nothing like what i have ever imagined. when i dip my fingers into water, they turn crooked and broken but there's no pain. the fishes nibbles at my fingertips and i wonder- what do they think of me? do they see me? can they see me? will i be remembered? i don't think so. these fishes- they live in a world different from us. they live in a world that is free and contains nothing but a great lake and sun and food. they have no worries.

sometimes i wish to be so free

chain me bind me blindfold me. block my ears and blind my eyes and stop my nose and gag my mouth so i will stop hoping and dreaming for the sky outside the steel-and-concrete cell you have trapped me in

a promise is a promise, no matter how embarrassing this is

when i close my eyes i see the world in vivid colours. i know, i know, it does not make sense. perhaps i am a born impressionist, for i see the leaves colour in golds and silvers like fairytales, and when i fall back into my bed i see the world like a surrealist painting, all blurred colours and distortion and yet so beautiful that it takes my breath away. light splinters, breaks into a thousand million rainbows and awash the walls with colours, but then-
i open my eyes

there's no song for a loner who walks his own road, because such a loner needs no song. the song he sings is in his own heart, and when he reaches out a hand it is not for help for companionship, it is simply an action; a gesture. perhaps he reaches out for the apple in the tree, or a pomegranate seed. do not chain him down just because he holds out a hand for you to hold; not because his hand is so warm that it sends shivers down your spine, and when you look into his well-deep eyes you fall and fall and can't wake up. do not chain down a lone wanderer, for when you try to, he stops being the man you love. you did not fall in love with a man who can be chained down - you fell in love with a free spirit, a falcon soaring the skies and when you collared the falcon- what then, do you love it for, once its freedom is chained?

let me go, let me free, let me try to dream and keep hold of my dreams in this world.

there's no colours in the wind unless there are leaves caught in it, blowing and fighting against the turbulence. there is no colours in water either, but water and wind has the ability to capture light, capture us and it is nothing like what i have ever imagined. when i dip my fingers into water, they turn crooked and broken but there's no pain. the fishes nibbles at my fingertips and i wonder- what do they think of me? do they see me? can they see me? will i be remembered? i don't think so. these fishes- they live in a world different from us. they live in a world that is free and contains nothing but a great lake and sun and food. they have no worries.

sometimes i wish to be so free

chain me bind me blindfold me. block my ears and blind my eyes and stop my nose and gag my mouth so i will stop hoping and dreaming for the sky outside the steel-and-concrete cell you have trapped me in