After all these years,

of fog and fight,

I have come to realise,

what my life really looks like,

Awake or at night,

both seem alike,

either, I drown myself to write,

other times, I keep up to survive,

After all these years,

of fog and fight,

I have come to secretly realise,

what I, really look like,

At the centre of my being,

I am no one, who never dies,

but only rise and rise,

up above these orange skies.