The walls of his blunt blank thoughts,
remain empty when looked in.
There are a few random colored dreams.
Black, green, crimson.
A few devoted songs,
to anonymous names and grins.
A few encounters,
Incidents, dramas, scorned nights.
A few speeches,a few fights.
All unheard, all to himself.
This is his safe haven.
His locked up room.
The walls enclose his agitated needs.
And the walls suffice most nights.
But sometimes, being heard even though spoken is required.
So he stares wide.
He speaks, they contemplate.
But no one surely understands.
The walls remain locked.
He remains chained.
To his own blank thoughts.
And HE, our leading pathetic soul.
HE is left unnamed.

-Sabah Batul