Betrayed By the society And the close ones Perhaps I am a mischief And perhaps I've done no good in previous life too Perhaps this is the reason I suffer so much in this one. Karma, my friends, is indeed a naughty girl.
Your skull is like a bowl You fill it with your thoughts While you fill the bowl with a white rice The scarcity of good thoughts Meaningless amount Compound like the stones In bags of the same aforementioned rice Why do you think so much? Don't blink! Tap upon a table, Make the noise your best advice.
If not gentleness in her eyes? What is love, If not gentleness in her touch? What is love to her, If not roughness of your mind? If not manliness of your character? What is love at all, If you haven't been hurt before by it? Why is it good at all, If not to be more than one? More than just alone?