Lay on the floor conserved in form of ball
Submerging in light of the seventh heaven, the 9th call
And I want to abide, move my fingers and fly
However I’m stuck in the lust of nightfall and time
And as darkness paves the way, a rhythmic pace of heart
My ribs take the beating, my eyes are downcast
Wanton night plays siren to the constellations
The nebula forms in the way of perfect stars
And night twinkles even if its midnight color is dark
Beyond reason frail is the fail identity
Or is it my pride savaged by my procrastinating serenity
With the will of iron I raise myself and then fall on my knees
Sitting through the darkness in need of illumination and certainty
I raise my voice which spills in a slurr of rum
The hundredth strand turn grey before you and I become one
An Indian Princess 