Puddles Of Thought

There is a morning
There is a day
There is a time
I sit on the chair
I think about life

The excitement of what I desire,
The melancholy of the thing that vanish
No hope of better morrow
The vision of greater future is unclear
But prophesy to be a greater one persist

My heart wanders uncertainly like a desert soldier
Yet on the seat I am
I bend my head against my laps
To disconnect my think from old thought
I hug my knees against my lower jaw

But think carry me to the river side to think
Oh! What a pity, I gropingly rub my hair
To arouse my sense of humour
But the sense of cry I open
Repeatedly I ask myself; who am I?

Old or new Jabez?
Nobody cares to spy on me
Neither a whisper of love to my soul
Maybe I should hang me one day
To end the sorrow epistle I have started

But I am not capable of doing that
Because I love myself
I shall keep pushing
Maybe the vision will be clear
One day I never know