like a wasted trash he sat down there dried of glee,
thinking how much more worse his life was gonna be,
and there he picked up his guitar and plucked a string,
and a symphony shrieked with pain as if a foreboding.
heavens stood up,
with a fear uncertain,
for the lifeless had cried,
had absence of brain made it insane!
Sanity blew apart in pieces,
all his sufferings he witnessed,
a debt he owed his mother,
the night she died in his arms and whispered.
"Behold the pain my son,
let the burning suns fade before you,
you are the child of a doomed,
let the creator feel the same you".
So shall be done, he professed,
silently as the rage blew the fire,
all the worlds echoed in agony,
The Lord himself with a fear in the eye.
He played on and on and on,
till everything was dead,
every wind was dazed,
for he challenged Gods all amazed.
And then the Ghost rode down to him,
uplifted his guitar and aired,
as if He' himself was the one depressed,
He' himself mourned a mother now dead.
Like a killer He' wanted to destroy,
and a distracted soul there enjoyed,
enjoyed the glum look on Creator's face,
who played consistent, who looked scar-faced.
Fingers bled heavily,
but He' didn't stop,
human He' felt now,
what a mother means He' knew now and lifted his top.
tears began to flow down,
petrified He' was, his face utter dark,
like someone who just got disarmed,
what a symphony, when even the Gods listened to shed in a human's arms!
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