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Friday , 9 December 2016
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The Melancholy Writer

I see the suffering through the smile….
Slipping fragments of ages through the clenching fist is my sanction…
The tattered clothe covering the bony frame reminds me, there has been biasness
My so called evil spirit comes out through the pores covering and depriving me of the ray of hope
I try to find the hole in that closely knitted veil
I walk but my movements are heavily manipulated by the huge loads of past…
The time wheel hesitantly strikes a chord for its scarcity
My efforts seem diluted and laboured…
The road is a jigsaw puzzle…
I want to give finesse touch to the expectations… 
Surprisingly, my failure makes me try again and again
The roads promise more thorns than petals
The thorns play the vital role in giving me strength to move ahead
But I know, The feeling of contentment will not be blown away by the thick destitute wind ……

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