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