The world seems covered with streaks and dots
Like zebra stripes and parking spots
Getting used to staying within the lines
Of living inside, bound and confined
Zombies; slaves of ticking clocks
Too afraid to think outside the box
So calculated each and every step
Convoluted like a spiders web
What is it about oranges and apples?
Why can’t it be really plain and simple?
Why not listen closely to cacophony
You might just find your symphony
Does everything need to be kept in order?
Making a mess isn’t quite a disorder
You may call it sloppy if it doesn’t look the part
Or you might just call it a work of art!
It may be easier said than done
But a method to madness? Where is the fun?
I live life on terms those are my own
Then maybe it’ll read on my tombstone
That here lies a man who did it all
Who hit his head, who had a great fall
But boy did he have fun along the ride
Breaking the pattern with every stride.
Original image courtesy of wallsave.com
Mihir Kamat 
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