Stranded between uncertain because and despite
In preordained predicament there is little respite
Like a tangled clump of infinite string of time
That could unfold many a flight of grounded kite.
To seek redemption the wayward winds blow
Our abilities like a latent seed their response bestow
Soiled, but not sown and yet winnowed off in futility
The storm in simmering womb smothers his flow.
The desperate calm that we upon ourselves heap
Torments like a deadly deamon put to brittle sleep
Our countenance drapes a tranquil façade for pretense
While angst perpetually pricks our soul in the deep.
Moradabad
2356
23.23 hrs
24.6.26
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