A survivor willing to cope,
Clinging to the shredded bits of dying hope,
I see snakes on apple trees,
On beds of roses - stinging bees,
Still holding on to the doubt,
Melting inside and out,
Scorching sun on the head,
Looking onto the moon instead,
Nowhere to find the times of smiles,
A speech of despair and of strange exiles.
Where do I find - love, peace and moments to cherish?
Where do I find –a stack of orchids and ways to flourish?
I feel I have come a way too long.
I feel that I have lost all my songs.
But I’m still clinging to the dying dime-
Of hope and love and of happy times.
For I don’t want to be known as the one who failed,
And I want to live to tell my survival tale.