Way out

I feel pity at my growing ignorance,
Each day I forget a bit more,
Past and future never enticed me ever,
But now even present fail me.

Life is a misnomer for slavery for most,
Those who can't feel it, don't know it yet.

I remember my Mother emphasizing on rote learning. 

So mornings dawned with repeating the lines time and again.
"Moral science lessons are best learnt in mornings," I remember once my Class VII teacher said.
While I found solace in nights. 

Breaking the numbers, 

keeping away sleep by tying my ponytail to the wall hook. 

Now when I find those lessons drowning in the ignored cesspool of human frailty, 

I remember those nights. 

For years now I had bartered words with numbers, 

hoping they can help through my insomniac slavery nights.

But when words too resembles a circle, 

you know it can no more heal the scars. 

So what do you live with? 

Could you walk back to the past cradle?

Does it even exist? 

Or you start running naked through the concrete highways on the wee hours of a Sunday, 

hoping to break the shackles of slavery?

Or you accept the mummification,

waiting to rot your way out of this life?