The pool of blood is raising
Some questions,
Still tracing the map to Mecca,
Measuring the disappointments
Of my own inability.

Some say raise your voice if
You want to be heard,
Dress like a hipster if you
Want to be seen.

While struggling to recognise
Your reflection
Every time you are in an elevator,
Like all flowers who are waiting to die.

We breathe,
We smile,
We are scared to be the exceptions,
While we silently feel inadequate.

Empty vases need validations,
Empty shells,
That would kill for a soul.
Crying is desperation.

Rising in isolation,
Defined by acronym,
Subject to referencing,
But saved by our pragmatism.

Knowing we are the symbol of
Our own doings.
Drowning in sweat of our visions.
We ask ourselves why?