Vishakha

I don\'t see the depth

I still keep the count of the scratches

I\'ve left on the wall

Lurking behind the curtains of courtesy,

but my soul is cracking and I\'m going to fall

I\'m a living hermit of dried emotions,

as I\'d sometimes portray

And I\'m getting wrinkles from dismay,

now even the thoughts feel young,

while I\'m left all old and gray