Yes, a whiff of that smell can bring back nostalgia
Every scene every report everywhere
The Mumbai trains had it, I smelt it so often that I wanted to own it
My very own bottle of memories which has now turned to an old nostalgia.
A whiff of the smell can make you time travel to the exact places
And the smell just like a memoir stays while the characters change.
We meet people of different cultures, shapes and beliefs
Hiding behind their clean masks of what seems to be
Everyone has another thousands of masks
And masking things and situations are a brilliant art
Every once in a while the mask begins to crumble
And no one stays loyal and humble.
My head is a very confusing place to live in
As memories play in them and if they don’t then music does
The exact scene is replayed along with the music
Until I curse myself and fall apart.
My 3 am call is now a suffocation
Filled with anxiety whining and tears
As my head is filled with nostalgia clips
And the people in it changed.
Another day, another day to get past
To show you’re strong, to show nothing affects you
You brush off and face another day
And try to calm the voices in your head
Until they drown you, over and over again.
In between all the hot coffee and recordings my head cannot vacate nostalgia.
At every thing you’ll stare blankly at you’ll want to find clues to the endless blame game.
Over analyse every situation a thousand times in your head
And end up crying inside while nothing, absolutely nothing helps.
You’ll end up in a world feeling horribly cold. In a world where no one cares. When your fighting thoughts with your own head.
Battles I’m loosing, as things are falling apart.
And never getting over the feeling of being stabbed a thousand more times.
The chords that connected the two
The body and the soul
Are now cut
The body feels no pain
The soul it is free to fly
Back and forth up sky
Now no more past haunts
No more future taunts
Everything lies in this minute
Where my body remains numb
No shivers no aches no more journey to take
No food no water no more is the difference between what’s real and what’s fake.
The chords are cut, a prayer towards the sky
Final destination to the world up sky