Of Imaginations

Often, the beautiful imaginations are erased by mournful emotions

Even before their chances of standing up, they have to crumble and dissipate

Distress footfalls leave marks on the mind as they march towards the untouched territories

Tremulous soul can do little to alert the subjugated mind to wake up from this tyranny

Trying to move towards the windows and doors, only to find them nailed powerfully

The soul cries deep and the tears are real; they have little power to seep into barren lands

Flows directionless across harsh lands, for they will vanish without any trace

Measuring pain is difficult, but the soul’s discomfort pulsates vigorously

Grave moments bury the imaginations and forget about their existence


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