in which colourful dream-house remain lost your eyes
what words in the forest of silence utter your eyes.
the metro's hustle and bustle, and all its dust and glitter
how easy every moment is all absorbed by your eyes
what the moment holds, the fear of unknown ever exists,
isn't it, perhaps, why gripped with fear are your eyes ?
weighed down by lines on their forehead are passers-by,
decaying brick by brick, like ancient ruins, are their eyes.