Being poetic

There's a crack in my heart
from where the silence escapes,
a crack that can't be filled,
with the tears of sympathy;
and, as I see through it
the roads that go home, I see -
an old man narrating the stories of his youth.
There's a lunatic you cannot stop,
and a melody you cannot hear,
and I, like always,
pretend as if I don't care.
And like old papers that carry
the remains of our past,
there's an old memory, rusting
in the corners of my heart,
remembring me my promises, my mistakes;
and I, like a paper drawing, be what I was,
only fading the colors to the cruel nature's laws.

-  Syed Rehan