THEY ASK ME
what will happen when we die,
BUT NOT
one asks how it feels to be dead inside.
THE
mournful air and a meaningless life,
WHEN
death is the only thing for which we really strive.
NEITHER
the sun shine affect us nor the moon's glow,
WE
feel pain though when our existence is our only foe.
WE
hide from death and run from life.
I
am not dead but I never felt alive
OUR
present deny us and we chase our past,
WE
breathe every second but we wait for the last.
©meet_anas
M