I rise my eternal spirit
from the profound hearts of transient men ,
their blind , undulating senses is my home ,
Built with latent happiness .
Yes , they exist .
not impalpable , but clear and wide ,
Penned down as you are doing .
Tireless like a sea, grasping bodies in its mouth ,
to energise its own vibrant power .
Penned down are the staff of vicious truth ,
‘Mad’ it is considered in this lunatic nature ,
stuffs of naked attire ,
vigorously scribbled to dress me
but results into blonde scars
rapt around breathlessly ,
You try to paint my wings with words,
incompatible for my existence.
I pity for the poor soul , that lies underneath your mind ,
who feels glad to serve me with unnecessary words ,
which results in decadence of my jovial mood .
And still you sell me for three a half penny
without my permission ,
you sell my heart filled content
and you get not only penny but also fame .