Through picking up on its way those
random signs of hopes and smiles that now like mosaic sand figures falling apart
and apiece this illusion-inflated entity is now no more than a nail-biting nut,
an invalid, a nihilist yet not developed a complete renunciation to find the
other way illumine. Though being deranged numb, yet sprightly willing for a
deeper gash enlightening forever.
Though lost this far, bewailing over
poor and praying for those blind sinners it’s daily prayers, a feeling telepathy
that matters yet like an unarmed savior. A silent drop its source of ease. Through
self-deprecation-languish it can now take more than triple-punch at a time. A dissonant
conceit can’t make a single attempt at encroaching into its grey domain for now.
Through diffidence marked by an autism
as a medium of equanimity it yet asks, ‘Is it fated to be so ever?’ Through monotonous
continuum of fraying and choking breaths in this cyclic existence it yet longs for
‘Can I make it after all?’ Through such fall it yet wishes such not be of an endless
gravity, summons for a timely savior to lay a landing to walk again…
Yet, a miracle for only a dream sweet.
A mercy it can’t seek for now, the probation set by the faith at stake. All blurry
murky yet a beacon there; phantasmagoric muted yet tethering.
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