Dry eyes

I still feel those eyes
dry, soft yet so nice
gazing through the lens
makes me drive so less.
Wonder what the soul was about
that made a loony to sprout out
wipe out the nettlesome
let her breath the open sesame.
Surpassing the serried odds
she stands victorious
conceals her agony in blurred vision
yet buys the souvenir of the lost motion.

Seven studs!

Seven are on ride,

when studies take a side,
with the glaring strikes of rays,
we feel making our ways.

Far across the horizon,
lies our destination,
we creep high to our corner,
when life seems so gloomier.

Colours of the rainbow,
we enlighten the low.
Days of the week,
we make everyone go freak.