People call me crazy
Neither am I living nor am I dead
No one seems to understand my story
I gather the flames of the rising sun
Slowly, slowly, I burn completely
Then I scratch the ashes in the dusk
When everything eradicates and becomes dust
No one would be able to understand my story
What kind of circumstance is this
Someday, I’ll write my story in books
Whosoever reads my books
Shall understand my story
The people can see my happiness
But they can’t see my sorrows
And pains
But when they read my books
They will all see my pains and say
Indeed, he is a tearjerker Author
Filled with pains no one could understand.