Instead of changing the world I started to change my mind
And wanted things in a shape of perfect triangular
The sisters of fate appeared and gave me things in red
Puzzled a bit, I proceeded to get my notion changed
No change occurred, all things appeared the same
With same nature, with same taste and odd puffy smell
No place is left, no where to get anything new and fresh
The same old, the same cold ice ruling the stalling world
Heat I got but that too lost its crafty art and soothing grace
Learnt to live with heaps and grew hills of consolation in plenty
A storm came from inside and took out all when I wanted less.