While you believe that the dice is blind,
the dice man smiles on the ignorance,
you illustrate your convenience with the world,
stripping off your uncertainties within and smile back,
scared like a little kid with no one around,
you play the game of fate with the cojones of sand,
and then the wait begins,
and eternity is delayed till the thirtieth of February.
The demise of desire was inevitable,
and so was the Parousia of failure and neglect,
And then the inappropriate becomes regular,
and the darkness is revealed off the eclipse,
Then you strip off your smile and they strip off their ingenuity
and the eyes blurt out the obvious.
Insinuation, deceit, comfort and sacrilege walk hand in hand
and the world walks away stolidly towards the casino,
and the dice man takes the dice again,
to the ease of his tricks and rolls it again.
Your fate is engraved with a rusted steel rod,
Now misbehave with hope and play your cards,
While they will flirt with the indifference
While you are written off as nada in the book of love.