When I think I’d write,
I try to capture a certain beauty in a web of hopelessness.
But, when I really write,
Things go other way round:
I always try to capture hopelessness in a web of beauty.
My love is an extinguished flame,
Even the flow of dying ember is not there,
Even the ache of unrequited love is gone,
I wanted someone, & failed to win her.
Perhaps, I’m a silent warrior on my side
Perhaps, that’s why the days gone by had left no ache.
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