Surrounded in this concrte jungle of plastic trees and plastic smiles, I tend to forget the times when there was a thing called beauty. Its a pity one never realises i till it has long gone and turned into dust. Standing among these tall structures that looked so tantalizing once now cast a shadow of despair and uncertainty our our shallow lives. I sit back and remember the deep voids of space where I would sit on a star and count the ants on the ground, scurrying past the flames of the late night hours. Listening to the rustling of the leaves while he ever glowing sun beamed on our souls.
But today the sun burns with its wrath and anger as it makes us sweat in the heat and curse it for its presence, burning us till we lose faith in the forces of nature.
I may never leave the depths of this complex yet plain sea of turmoils and will probably be laid to rest in a field where the crows may swerve over my burning self. But one thing is for sure, that while I burn in this desert of miseries, my ashes will be blown away by the winds to the place where I once belonged, under the feet of the hills and wrapped in the blanket of the stars.
