In the paradigm of life everything is placed in order
The mechanism of which advises you to move forward
Any uncertain delays leaves heart pumping fast
A tear of rage bullies mind and shuns the warning cast
Hapless sit wringing hands waited to be interviewed
Alike disection the conscience probe leaving you to stew
Sitting in front of looking glass, finding faults where they exist not
Each day the Granfather clock ticks,spending in ease precious time
Heard he not from the grapevine, that its soul of sloth
Everyday creating a new possibility trading reality in cost
Closest memory is a vain attempt to dream
Closeted fears floats the boat in irrational stream
Seemingly on every moment thesis is formed
Gradual with maybe’s “And I belong but ..where?” question stalks
Complex webs the neverves forms inside the skin
Speaking a language, stuttering the good deeds and sin
Aftermath, is where the batttle is won or lost
And then he moanfully looks at the mausoleum of thoughts.
Reblogged this on anshulmangal.
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