Storms aren’t just winds whirliing and jostling against each other,
they have the ability to turn everything down to litter.
no matter how hard you try,
the wind will whirl, leaving nothing to pry.
Change is the only constant,
and so is time.
Life is just a game against forces blatant,
with atrocities being each other’s mime.
Colours bring contrast to life,
but reality is gray.
The spoken word is rife,
reality is cold as a winter day.
There are a plethora of ways to do things right,
but millions to make a mistake.
the moment life is breezy and light,
the other, everything is on stake.
It doesn’t take much time.
for worlds to fall apart.
It’s just a matter of seconds,
when hardships become a piece of art.
Ripping the heart out,
with emotions bland like hay.
With fate sour like a stout,
it just becomes a matter of a day.
With the mind cold as stone,
nerves frozen.
with wills prone,
and souls unbrazen.
My thoughts are locked in shackles,
my mind a replica of an empty page.
A mendicant of words bound with tackles,
the eyes distracted by the golden cage.
It is with a heavy heart I write,
for the fingers are dried out.
The world ruptured by termites,
with throats bent, its too late to shout.
The darkest of nights,
are in line with the brightest of days.
But I fear the threats posed by the bright,
what if the night would prolong its stay?
The silver linings we avoid,
disguised as a crack.
If we act then it fills the void,
otherwise it is just a stab in the back.
God doesn’t give solutions,
he paves the way for opportunities.
It depends upon our ambitions,
not rats feeding their communities.
Lamp in my hand,
lost in the dark.
I don’t fear the forest,
for it is the exit that makes me feel a spark.
Atrocities are the synonyms of life,
happiness is just an episode.
Our fate is trife,
when we are scurried into the dark abode.
By: Aayushmaan Malviya
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