a little bubble burst.

the mournful silence of the unshed tears,
in that night of stars,
reached out and held me still
within the bars of that grotesque cage.
the longing nights of love and hate
and that purity of the heart
were all that i had with myself
within that grotesque cage.
gusts of wind swept beside me
as i lay there alone.
thoughts of those who were, once, around me
were all that which in my eyes shone.
futility of actions, when you are made to believe
in right and wrong, is something only god can do.
for only he can be cruel.
even when on his path you are, you believe you do.
the wrong we despise, and the right we praise,
are but the turns we give
to the wheel of our life.
and they become the moorings posts
to which our life's ship gets tied to,
when there are troubled waters.
they become the twinkling stars
of the lonely night
when we tread the
soft sands of the lost times.
for these rights and wrongs
bring happiness and suffering,
at least that's what we believe.
they become the everyday laughter and tears,
and fate and destiny and more.
they become what we are.