Thursday, October 07, 2010

Lonely corners
crumble & become tiny
there is no space to call my own

Overwhelming noises
magnify & become unbearable
there is no silence to call my home

Known sea of faces
rotate & manipulate
there is no place for love

This is the exact moment
when I attempt at stopping to think...


Benny said...

Sigh... an element of melancholy is very loud in this one...
Can we call it a post modernist condition?

chnlove said...

It is very interesting article and quite impressive and more informative too.I like the way you describe all the things and the examples.

Anonymous said...