The words are mine, the touch is real

The presence is felt, the person is me

You know my face, you know the story

you know the time and you know my speech

Months when I dont see you, days when I dont answer

Hours that i spent alone, minutes that I count.

In the altitude of eagerness,

In the commotion of restlessness,

In the quietness of the facade,

In the darkness of grief,

The look is unreal, the tales are fake,

The clock is stuck and my words do slur.

Standing amidst the pace.

fallingly flying

The only shrine and the only place

The lord's grace to hold me on.

Strange is the creation and so is me