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A day of no wishes… it looked too gloomy through my eyes. A lot of thoughts, a lot of talks, a lot of frustration. I wondered about nothing. I remembered an old prediction by a famous astrologer in India about me. “None should predict your future, as your life will fail every prediction”. True that.




Looking at the morning that stands dry,

Though grey the sun still blasts,

All his power into the season of warmth,

The greenery waved in the adoration,

The birds grooming themselves, in shade rested,

And the late morn departed without leaving a thought.


Time’s progression through the day was gradual,

Lazy eyes saw faces smile less,

Some stared and fast away they turned,

As if a criminal blunder was done.


The evening like a crayon drawing in stillness stayed,

An outline of a beauty in protest left,

Or pruned away before bloomed.


Oh’ tried I to gather a moment to remember,

But none was there as gloom of the dark crept,

Into every corner of mind in frustration still searched.


Oh’ I am a painter who became color blind,

A storyteller, who in amnesia wept,

An athlete, who broke his arms and legs,

A soldier, who lost all his ammunitions,

But still a poet, who wrote in the language of the heart,

Verses, praising the love of a beauty nonexistent,

Who felt the grip of the night through sleep,

Way early than every other day with emptiness filled.


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