When I look at my hands;
I find them empty and frail,
when I look at my eyes;
they seem sunken and wet,
when I look at my lips;
they quiver curbing my shouts,
when I look at my own self;
the reflection is worn out.

With time everything has rotten,
when I had to be cheerful;
I find everything mundane.
Like failure had suck-
even the last drop of hope in me.