I wish to carve myself.

By way of appearing same,

As it is as I am.

I wish to drop a line on stone,

But, I get in touch with scrap.

Everything engraved are just fragments

That deserves to get thrown away.


In spite of everything,

I wish to shape figures of my heart.


Extremes are off these days,

And the whole lot is normalcy.

It gets its rank in expressions,

But never in cores and epics

However, passions penetrate deep down to the cores.


A spirit of extreme passions and incidents,

It yearns for.

With no extremes,

What will I carve?

Everything is just fragment,

That deserves to get thrown away.