Red Room Where the Writers Are

Wake up in bed, in a bed..
Four seconds to realize, there is nothing..
Open a pair of haggard eyes, something's missing..
The embroidery of the cushion
Stamped on my plain face,
At least now it is ornamented..
Something's missing
That cannot be replaced..
Close your eyes, it's hard to see
Hard to wake up to life resented..
They sipped your vigour and passion
For their morning tea..
And now I wake up in a bed
That is neutral to me..
My heart wants to run away
"There is nothing.."
Be patient.. Stay..
"I can't,
Why don't you understand?"
I will keep my promise, I promise..
Please stay..
I put a fragile pleading hand
On the sobbing heart of mine..
I hide my face in the cushion, I still smell
The hands embroidered in henna
That worked the embroidery design,
After ten years.. I hide myself..
There is something I miss
Something I miss
I miss something, heck!
I sit up and look, beside the bed, it fell..
It jingles as I wear it safe around my neck..
I sigh
I am lost, almost lost, in an indifferent bed,
I put my two trembling hands
To clench my trembling heart
They clench the jingling pendant instead..
Hold on.. Hold tight..
Get cut by a copper star..
I've been crawling for long,
Time to hold up my head to the Sun..
It's been long, it can't be far..
Cry hard,
Get lost in an ocean of sparkling red,
Laugh hard,
Wish for a blue sky
And a smile glowing bright
In the face of an angel..
Cry what you wish, or get maniac, with no delight..
It can't be far, now..