In Haste we Forget

In the banality of busyness, the crisp words melt away without a trace

Only some aftertaste of repentance; a morning feels feverish in surrounding cold

Willingly becoming an unwilling partner to the race that holds our hands roughly

The wrists feel the pain, while the sore feet finds this experience rather tedious

Easier leaving compared to the decisions a heart has to make while entering an abode

Insomniac wanderings, euphoric celebrations of being awake at the wrong times

The ones we receive and deceive or the lucky few who do not bother any companionship

Fury has no reason, the banality of exaggerated reactions to all the wrongful decisions

Greeted with bouquets of  obstinacy and blossoming pride is a strange welcome

It easy to disappear in the busyness, but the excuses are devoid of any meaning

~Amitav

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