291 49 22

Even the fruits of exile,
Are not in my fate,
Parted from my home,
I reached the city of hate,

All my colours bloomed,
When i was scarred,
I'm a flower pot,
Placed in a courtyard,

Now i found that,
No scene was my own,
The world is a casket,
And i have to stay their alone.

Where can i go,
In this garb of disgrace,
I have just brought my body,
And left behind my face.

Thousand Thoughts Where stories live. Discover now