I will.

melancholy beats of the drum
continuously humming the daunting sorrow
of the desolate mind
in the secluded corner
of the dark alleys.

walking through the paths.
shivers of the bones bitten cold
ignoring the hammering thunder.
Despising the heavy-hearten soul.

derives from the pleasure.
devours the present joy.
of the sudden drops of the stony rains.

left with the aghast moments.
but it is already too common.
the expectancy of the It.
too predictable to the awaken soul.

blinded by the scorching news,
finally recognize the signs,
delectable to the minds.
surrendering to the norm.

the good part is here to come,
to the merry news of the changed soul.
pervade it may be.
needless to say, renounces the best.

Aisyah
24.08.09