27.1 C
January 17, 2020


It is the nature that impaired
By making me a women all weird
With not a hassle free dawn
She gifted me an unseen prison
For what sins , I have no reason
The morning is an hectic alley
With all sounds and fury of out goers
Never seen a sun rising in my ephemeral chores
And the sun sets are my passions still
Waiting for a repose and recognition in the alcove of home, with no avail
With no respite to ruminate on my will
Like a switched on light I got spent
Nothing to gain at the end
To Burn out and lost like a filament.

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