One's
heart is not made of stone
Hence
it's a subject to death,
Subject
to decomposition!
Remember
those nights- one wept alone
And
never satisfied with any conclusion
Because
nothing proves nothingness
Truly
virtuous!
When
tears stop flowing we begin to scorch
Our
several dreams burnt and
Some
obvious-
Realities
indeed betray with too many-
Hotchpotch
and fallacious wisdom
They
appear to us as philosophies,
Philosophies
unknown-
Oblivious-
we never reject any.
Because
rejection-
Of
our earliest truths provoked
A
thousand million-billion agony;
Forced
to arise and embed in life,
And
their crucifixion-
Here
continued
Still
they thrive.
Though
discontented we are
But
futile to deny a cup of venom
We
say it a cup of nectar, and-
Nevertheless
we drink.
As
we go, we go forward, we think
No
word remains for a newest rhyme,
So
close we come to the end, so close
We
come to the Time-
But
at last we see
Nothings
finished.
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