The past and the present 

Don't complement each other.

There is a conflict between 

The photograph and the mirror.

The photograph preserves the youth 

And zeal. The mirror reveals 

An apparently old tired soul 

Eager to bid adieu to the world.

The blazing yellow Sun decorated 

The beautiful blue empyrean.

The chirping of the birds. Amidst 

All the felicity promising of a perfect 

Beginning, some clouds preparing to 

Curtain the vibrant symbol of power.

As his steps, with which the devil walked, 

Reached me. It rained - the acid actually rained.

The drops of the cold hot acid 

Burnt my face, I lost my identity.

My passion, my dreams on the alley laid lifeless.

I still recollect them, building the old me again.

I continue to be beautiful.

I carry the same old heart.

Even more stronger than before the hatred 

Attack of my so-called lover I was.

But what about the loss, I think.

When the loss of even a toy is worth crying.

It hurts even I can't believe the photograph

Is mine, when the mirror denies to approve. 

The clouds never are the ultimate winners,

You know. The Sun shines for the 

Millions of millions ages to arrive.