The final verses of my vivid life,
In colours of purple haze,
Morning skies seem alive,
With the Thunderbirds passing by,
She was never the love of my life,
Never the soul of my dreams,
Unless the dreams were seen in daylight,
Daylight is nothing but a symphony,
Of clear blues, mesmerizing eyes,
Sky reflects beneath her silver moon,
Streaming past her glaring smile,
She could kill a thousand lives,
Make a few traffic jams,
Blur a few, between the lines,
Freeze the time for a second,
Yet the world seems to wander,
In colours of purple haze,
Seems to climb away,
From all the hustle and bustle,
But the window is 6 inches wide,
As she stands staring at the other side,
Morning skies seem alive,
Sensing something in colours of grey,
Of thunderous rains, pouring eyes,
Never the soul of my dreams,
The screams of a beautiful child,
Realized yet unfulfilled all my life,
She could envelope a thousand skies,
Sky reflects beneath her silver moon,
As every inch tries to squeeze in,
Fragile body, clinging to the final ties,
Morning skies seem alive,
Two bodies in dismay yet visualize,
Sky gasping beneath her silver moon,
In slow breathes it comes alive,
In colours of purple haze,
Screams echoing of a beautiful child,
As the fragile body wobbles beneath,
In tender whispers, whimpers,
Fragrances from every pour of the skin,
Delusional are the senses for some time,
Epitome of pain and belonging,
Of forgetting and forgiving,
Of two souls like synchronized swimmers,
Sky reflects beneath her silver moon,
Of slow hushes, screams whisper,
In colours of purple haze,
World seems to come alive.
