Dark Lake and startled mornings 

Oh, my old version of thee,

Extinguishing my own version of life,

Thou art giving birth to the next;

Hence, a new man always blooms…

A new world of errors and ecstasies,

A new breath, unknown until today,

A new expression of dispassion,

A weird dogma of wicked truth.

Yet, shattering my own versions,

Losing my way in the collage of aspirations,

Finding grace within the grotesque gallery.

Oh, my old version.

Yet, looking into the dark lake of night,

Submerging beneath the melancholy,

Waiting for startled mornings.

Oh, my old version.

You have yet another day to sail,

And yet another day to submerge.

Oh, my old version.

---

To be or not to be is always a question 

To be a realistic or a dreamer 

neither There won’t be a real dream

 Nor any dream 

Won’t become real.

Though the white seems to be visible 

Nor the black show us a way

Oh my lovely gray 

Though you are not real

You have a point to say 

None can stay longer in gray 

And accept the sufferings

None can stay 

None can stay 

Oh my lovely gray 

You have a point to say 

The sarrows of living in grays

---

Eliminativism: Of True Colors

Until the light has fallen,

Every color seems to be true.

Until that light reaches my eye,

The heart is sensitive enough.

In the midst of sparkling interstellar dust,

In the mystery of a rainbow of colors.

Oh, my galaxy, What is your true color?