Waiting for Another Saturday
I’m waiting for another Saturday
A day that just isnt the same
A day we plunge into pain
A day we ask what is sane
I’m waiting for another Saturday
A day that just isnt about leisure
A day we give up pleasure
A day our steps we measure
I’m waiting for another Saturday
A day that just isnt bright
A day we pick up a fight
A day we set things right
I’m waiting for another Saturday
A day that just isnt real
A day we talk about how we feel
A day our masks we peel
Seasons without reason
She can’t see my watery eyes. And as she turns away and I close them in pain, a couple of drops of tear race down my cheeks like the first raindrops of the monsoon. And before I know it, I’m struggling to find my way leaping across huge puddles while scurrying here and there to avoid the much hated splash of muddy water as a speeding car drives past. What will I do in anger against the inconsiderate driver? His concerns were different than mine. The blame is in these very eyes that sparked with joy at seeing the bright sun dawn on a cold winter morning. Even my stomach echoes the sounds of thunder above. I haven’t had a decent meal in days and I don’t want to answer these calls from within me anytime soon. While it rains, I gently smile. If that’s enough for them, this is enough for me.
Missing
I’m trapped in a world
Where I’ve lost myself.
I’ve tried too many times
To find who I am,
But maybe this time
I need you
To come find me,
To come behind me
And tap on my shoulder,
Turn me around
And tell me
You’re right there.
But all I feel
Is a chill
Running down my spine,
Like the way
They say it feels
When a ghost
Passes you by.
Ghosts of the past
Might this be,
Or just a fear
Of the uncertainty
That envelops a message
From the future
That awaits me.
As I turn back
There’s nothing
I can see.
And I can see
There’s nothing,
No turning back.
Between the past
That has been
And the future
That is yet to be,
I find myself missing
In the present
That is now.
But is it really me
Who is missing,
Or is it just you?
