Fragments of my existence,

scattered here and there,

With all my might and struggle,

I'm trying to put them together.

I caught a few pieces across the floor,

I collected a few lying at the door,

I found some of them floating on the surface of pound,

While some of them have already drawn to the ground.

I sat by them

I picked them up,

One by One, to arrange in proper order,

Order? How can I decide the proper order of perfect disorder?

Let's start with the first description of the dagger,
Stabbed into the conscious of a buffoon teenager.

Ah! that creature was funny,
So what if it never realized the world wasn't like it painted it.

In it's head, the vibrant colors of glee and pleasure.

I tried to read the washed of letters before lying them on grass.

But the words were gone and so
was the feelings and hurt.

Those friends has gone,
That innocence has gone.

So why should I collect them
And make a proper place for the collaterally damaged cells.

I walked ahead to collect a few,

Laying at the threshold of main exit.

As I cought them,

I sat there to wonder,

Is it the beginning?
or the ending of my endeavor?

From the first stab to this hollow frame.

How much this soul has suffered,
how much it's willing to bear more?

I wonder at it's strangth,
And at the fact that
The same door used for exist
Is the same provides a way to enter.

The shine of the Sun before resting in the West
Can't be differ to the one rising from the East.

Is it the End?
Or The new Beginning?

Of a new I, or the one
who has already gone
Gone to return
Like forever!!