I’ve watched the movies of my ages,
Even those that were before,
I’ve read books of teenage feelings,
I’ve read about leprechauns.
The world has become an endless series,
The scenes repeat in every lore,
There’s no book that could surprise me,
The same stories in every store.
My eyes are saying they are full of seeing,
They are replete of colours,
Even my mouth is fed of disagreeing,
They both wish to remain closed.
While my eyelids are feignedly sleeping,
While my lips are firmly closed,
The darkness is calling and appealing,
But the movie colours shout.
The films keep shooting everywhere,
Like an ever writing Molière,
But do the plays interest me more,
Or not seeing them anymore?