The existence delays its rent, it owes a lot to Time, spent force, a delayed start and incoherent response to the morning

Almost a fancy disguise to avoid the probing glances of time, a messenger running synchronously with a tired journeyer

Out of the fancy little spaces, spilling over to the crowded extravaganza, every little soul claustrophobic within the modern designs

Plans, not according to the individual convenience, but a reality of empty promises, vague truths, an emerging post-truth consensus

Dreams do not cuddle with the vibrant soul anymore, a rather depressing energy pressing life to adapt to a worthless pursuit

Anxious time, unpaid hours and lack of vigor, a visionless rhetoric, model where numbers denote the limitations; freedom, a lost cause

-Amitav Chowdhury

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