With all the acts, trials, and women that confused me,
All the suffering and wisdom infused in me
I still can’t reach my intended destination,
Still can’t feel the pleasure of living without any oppression.
Homely, in solitude express my feelings
About wars, loveless deaths, suicides, and misfits of racial killings.
Sometimes even wish there was nothing about it that I knew,
Wish I wasn’t me, and this beard on me never grew.
Another human with the same soul,
Same path, just headed towards a different door.
Perhaps then I could see my appearance a little clear,
Not just some reflection in the mirror!
I wish Scarpa didn’t leave the way he did,
I know then my family’s hearts would never have to bleed.
Indeed life is a play and I’ve performed on many stages,
A grimace of pain engulfs me with every turn of my life’s pages.
The narration is brief but the chapters are much broad,
Thus sometimes searching for love, solo, just sailing on that road,
I wish to be open about things I’ve gone through,
Wish I was a flower an artist pours out his emotions to.
With all I please, surely say to him what I feel,
Never measuring my words with caution, just being real,
Strike him to paint me, with his delicate brushes of wood.
Honestly honest, I think he might draw me good!
Sometimes I wish I was like a tree,
Standing with spread arms, alone, thoughtless, so free,
While wonderful birds perch on me and sing beautiful hymns,
Hymns that stand out from all human melodies and themes.
I wish I was like the sun and everytime I stood bright
Your shameful eyes would dare not stare at me with so much spite!
(My Intellect’s Loud And Noisy-MILAN)