True Identity by Sushant Thapa

Again, I look out

From the endless depiction windows.

I see many restless faces,

Consumed by weariness.

The mad melancholy has a countenance.

I am your native, see my day to day

Faded striving.

There is no native denial, yet I speak

This lingua-franca.

I am in a train ride,

Different walks of life

Have a same destination in my train.

The world grows mossy,

The flowers are only decorations.

Blood stained is the garden;

Yet, every morning

A dawn breaks.

A true identity is in living,

No matter how hard it gets.