Who cast an imprecation at me,The time changed at the hit of the night;So meretricious it appeared,I followed it sans questions;And when I foundThe right, The Wrong and then someI got that I was tiredAnd not right.
I was tired of being myselfWith lots of possibilities and confusions:The dreams and the aims,The feet and the steps,So not-in-accord.So helpless like a ten cross ten matrix,Attenuated with time gradually,It seems like a self claimed portraitOf hopelessnessWhen I come across the mirror.
Then it happens,Someone silently approaches Out of the dark;Want to hold my hand and walk,Till sunrise,And leave me refreshedNot tired, not dejected.
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