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I remember myself nonchalant and passive, those early days,
The time, sun had just exposed its first light.
The morning’s hush, yet so melodious.
The circled flight of birds- unified, untamed and free...
Now, all gone astray...
I feel myself uneasy and concerned, in these days,
No time, to catch the glimpse of the jolly sun.
The morning’s hush, but so habituated.
The circled flight of birds- rebellious restrained and caged...
I recollect all those blissful flashes, blurred with time,
When clock was a plaything, and it’s ticking just a piece of music.
Each face so darling, every finger so reliable.
The entire world was just a puppet show...
Now, I endure this agony, cheerless and yet buzzing,
The clock is unsmiling, and it’s ticking so upsetting,
Each face so repellent, no amity and no support.
Now I’ve become a puppet of this world...
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