How much do you feel when you see the world around?
Like a child?
Or,
Like someone who has abruptly chosen to surpass the consciousness
Where is the foundation to lay the words for them to grow with each reading
Curiosity?
Or,
Ultimate greediness to mimic the sensibilities of the words of the world
Is it really change in perspective?
Or,
Change in the prejudiced views from a different angle; away from public view
With stealth willing to be a part of that wealth
Sorry, the world that feels so luxuriate, benevolent, and united
The hallowed chambers cannot be entered at will or by chance
What is that sense that shields the words?
Fractious feelings emanating from the discriminate heart
Do the eyes have a combined vision?
Not necessarily, with all the distractions that entertain and titillate
Frail reciprocation, veiled sarcasm, representation of witlessness
Verbalising the cliches with elan; sigh! the words feel misplaced
~Amitav
