  Butterflies out of the cocoon Oh, life is strange, Like a knock at the door at the mid night hour of loneliness, It haunts you, when you are alone, In the middle of the night when you woke up, And find yourself chasing the memories of your youthful past Like butterflies out of the cocoon, It is painful and uncomfortable like a disgusting insult, When you find yourself left behind and betrayed by a friend. To meet him once more on another day, When he returns, again to go back to his world Saying that, friendship never fades away, It is the pain of sorrow and loneliness And there is the guilt of mistrust. Silence of your cry Your grandeur and helplessness. Friend Life is the joy of pain, and loneliness, It is sorrow and grief. Loneliness is a long hot desert, in the middle of night, Sorrow is a gust of wind, Grief is a pain of loss of a good friend, Friend is a ray of hope, And hope is an illusion. Joy of Pain Tell me do you still love me, Or it is to long and gone.
Has it faded away with the time? Like the aroma in the room, Where we had spend some time, till the last farewell. To me it is still the same and would never change, I'm living in the past with my memories, This only makes me miserable and sad, But I like the suffering and the joy of the pain. Walking along with the shadow In the darkness of despair, with the bitterness of life, You are all alone and sad. It is painful and anguishes to the soul, to be left behind, In the middle of nowhere, on the road to the loneliness. In the moonlight night, you find yourself walking along with the shadow, You find some joy, as if you have found a long forgotten friend, Or some passer by, but only for a while, Soon it disappears, and you are struck by the reality, And you are all alone, Waiting for someone yet to come, And knock at the door of loneliness, In your inner universe of utopia.
Reality I am getting gray, old, and rusty, Chasing the reality. Running wild against the wind, Getting tired. As if no energy is left, Like an old deranged animal, Loosing control on the life. Which was once a joy and pleasure, But has turned into a never-ending dream. It is painful and distressing, Artificial like a drug induced sleep. Old wine My love I am still waiting for you Yet anxious and aroused Though time has lapsed enough.
I still remember the fragrance of You're last smile Which was so sweet and nice. Just like butterflies in springtime. Like a hue drop on a leaf. But this world looks very artificial to me, Like an imitation jewelry Which only glitters, but it is not gold. But I believe our love is pure, like old wine, Eternal and forever. Prescription Intoxicated and drugged.
Back to the cocoon, into the shell. Where you are away from the reality, Which is ugly and bitter? Like the drugs, which my psychiatrist has prescribed me for sleep and happiness. To change the biochemistry of my blood and mind, Just to make a temporary change, to block the transmission of stress. To put the broken soul to rest. To console in the end and to charge with a smile.
But tell me does the pain of being left behind disappear or gets better, Or it just turns into the scar on the broken soul. To get even worse at the end of the time. Seasons of the life Daydreaming and painting your face, With my eyes closed. Wondering how to draw your eyes, With its inscrutable shades... Thinking and cursing myself, That life is so unfair and mean. Which is the ultimate reality?
Many seasons of the life or the death! As when the colors of the universe disintegrate, They turn into the spring, Which is bright and colorful, vividly blooming. Like the colors of a rainbow, Which we have painted on the sky many years ago. But like a faded old master piece, It has turned pale and yellow… With dust on its surface, Telling a sad story of a fairy tale… Turning the spring into autumn, With pain and despair. But left deep inside me, Hidden into my broken soul, The only color of life is black, As life is so unfair and mean, Like the darkness of despairs. Deception Hush of your scream, glory and helplessness, Life is the pleasure of pain.
Separation is gloominess, in the extreme of twilight, Companion is a flicker of hope, And hope is a deception. Life and existence are unpleasant, Mysteriously deep, Hidden in side the closet, Like the reality of love and the delusion, Encapsulated in the richness of deception, Only to be explored at the end of fascination, When it is too late to scream for comfort, It is the pain of grieve and desolation. 
