The clutch remains
wrapped
But the gift
is sadly lost to time
The wind of destiny
blows away
Our choicest
treasures to alms
Despite the grip
of clenched fists
The thickest
and deepest scratch
Surrenders to
a wave on fickle shore
While those we
call our little world
Contrive our downfall from the skies
Await our failures
to prove the point
The mother hides
the smeared face
And affirms our
virtues to the world
Even as we falter
in sin , and smiles.
Delhi
2175
15.35 hrs
18.8.24
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