Of Those Imaginations

Imaginations become feeble when you allow them to become strangers

Eyes favour the undesirable, the barren thoughts seat themselves comfortably

Discussing the impulsive change in routes that are unkindly and difficult to traverse

Palpitations of the wind, tremulous feelings of the valleys, and widespread neglect

No hallowed mornings, lights appear and then melt into some unknown reality

Nursing negativity in the bosom; it sighs and cries, the feeble spasms can be felt 

For whose service the heart wakes up, when the imaginations and dreams are unreal

Such displeasure for the soft languages of the soul, tongue becomes the darling of hate

How convincingly the stranger’s image is sculpted by the handful of inimical ones

Only visitor during the induced dreams are those who come along to unsettle

Life think of sustaining on negativity and indignation- hoping rage will keep it awake

Forgetting, the beings of universe are dependant on the universe’s calling

Of related loneliness, the fragile bonds, and subdued nature bores the imagination

Happiness cannot be replicated or reflected on well-crafted mirrors

Till the eyes wake up the imaginations that are pure and soul that seeks beyond

~Amitav

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