Blessed

Rest is no cure for tiredness, the more you rest, that expands double the score                         
Dull, steady, boring bulge weary every second more and more                               
Blessed are those who suffer from the syndrome of forgetfulness                       
Spared from the dreadful ghosts of the memories at the depth of deafening emptiness                       
For no apparent rhyme or reason,                       
We become motionless wary of frightening nothingness                             
Neither up nor down, hanging suspended in the air whispering around                            
Call it empty euphoria appearing and vanishing like clusters of the winter clouds                
Riding on the fast-blowing winds disappear,
 without raining or thundering clouds                                
Walking dazed through part Illuminated and part darken memories lanes                              
The burden of the guilts weighs too much to face squarely                
 Or to withdraw from the horrors of unscanned                     
 Buds and the flowers know only how to bloom smiling with sweet   divine fragrances 
and move forward                    
 It does not matter whether it is in the garlands offered at the divine temples, 
churches or in the wreaths offered at the silent isolated graveyards

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