My world

If I wasn't born in the era of technology, I would cast myself off along a tree trunk, believing I am an outcast- 

I do not belong, I do not mix in all the dazzling chaos at the moment.

The choice will be made if only the world was still, down to earth and around the globe, If the world was still, scenting incense of superstition.

Looking at those time when in my though, it's all ambush of carobs, when behind my eyes its all dark coloured roses, my lips interlocked, my mind at fizzed and my hands freely downing words in ink, with all on my smiling paper.

  If I was born in the other era, era of abomination, maybe I will belong. For among my peers I single out, grandma am called. And in my home the hunted one. 

Alive and Aloof, in the skills I've gat, cheering joyfully in the stories I tell, just yesterday, it was one of a tale, just today it was among all poetry, tomorrow will be a prose, and what will be the future will be. 

At the top of my head, felt wrinkled leaves. Popping in my ears, spines and thorns. Everything scent of incense my nose perceived, and admists all, I had lots to write. Rejuvenating my thoughts my only desire. The feeling of calmness, only writing brings. 

This is another era, not an abomination. This is another era, not a superstition, I am casted in. This is another era, where I exist. 

And this is me, here with my skills, not perfect though, but with this era I coexist.