Our imaginations wish to believe in the beautiful manifestation of nature
Dreamers, idlers, and innocent vagabonds always think of being there
When communications fail and conscience dictates in a firm language
Revolting time shuts down the consciousness too
Another reality makes an appearance, but the mirrors are unable to reflect
It can be a depressing revelation
We are perpetually frozen in an antithetical dream
All the rough objects pierce the eyes and stab the imagination
There is an unhurried approach to look at the dawn
With a yawn, apprehensions, and a multitude of identities
The real ones are difficult to identify
What is it with the intoxicating nature of impatience?
The world is being complacent within the bubble of chaos
Chronicles have been misinterpreted, for there are no credible translators
Time does navigate through the faculties, but there is no chance
~Amitav
