Taking steps were so difficult
In those days… And now…
Running sounds more apt.
Hope from the grabbed churn,
Blank over the dreams overrun;
Ruined remnants of the scholarly vices,
Blind hearty matters and dreadful disguises.
Gloom over the severed bonds,
Celebration of those lost seconds;
Fight over someone else’s wealth
Careless about the precious health.
Bucks that cling to mind no more,
Blocks that float but reach no shore;
Windows open to the polluted skies,
Suffocated with innumerable lies.
Hurrying to step out of this mournful hell;
Ended up holding, in dark, the demon’s tail.
Life has its own tryst with self…
Not being sure if it is…
Pissed off or paced up.
© Amaresh Swain