When new flowers come

When no answers come
And songs sung to the winds
Just vanish with the winds
Into distant vapours
As though another sliver of hope dies within

Yet I wake up and write another song
I cut myself open just one more time
That may be this song would make someone
Hear me at last
From their death-like stupors,
In which they cannot stop falling in love
With their own selves again and again and again,
They will at last awaken
N see the torment of another
They never really do-

For they are eternally dead
Not only that
Perhaps fermented too in their rotting minds
For my rotten cadaver moves them not
My naked, writhing stirs them not
To respond to me-

To see that I too am human
N worthy of respect
I too was born just like them
I too ought to be celebrated
The manner they celebrate themselves
Every other day-

But no answers come-
As I wait for these dead men, these dead souls
To listen to the cries of us -dying souls
For the dead do not hear
The dead do not respond-

And neither do these
Who move around in human bodies
Carrying dead souls inside them-
Unresponsive, cold and rotting
The ones who have all the answers
But really none (in fact)