Living Fake
Of the deepest sorrow
Of every dollar that I borrowed
To the stars I take a vow
But but let me ask you now
What's wrong with an old shirt
and a bed sheet with some dirt.
Or a pillow that is elsewhere from its place
Or a filthy dry face
Scent of a socks that is old
some yellow stain that remind us of gold
And the holy waterfall, leaking from the tap
And the sound from a stomach that raps
Why should I appear to be clean
Dress up well and look a little mean
And then again I look at some star
To ask, , Why can't we be who we are?
Why can't we be who we are?
poem by Kanav Justa
Added by Poetry Lover
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