Wronging the self and denying the freedom of looking at open skies

Not expressing loud enough so echoes can play around in wilderness

Life is unstirred by the ripples of openness

Misses out on the frolicking taste of wandering with positive dreams

What’s the point of embellishing those feelings with falsehoods?

Reading something macabre every day to arouse the demons

In the cauldron of woes throwing some diabolical mantras

Till the time turmoil transforms into a terrible disorder; a tempest awakens

Infusing the same intensity of negativity in someone’s life as well


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