It's a collection of some unbounded poems which somehow might pattern up to the psyche of different phases of our lives. It's how Q/A soliloquies permutate and combine and conclude subtle life events and their chronology. But the question paradox sh...
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Niches cease to unexist out of bloom- And entice me... As i submit to be embraced by the tranquil neutrality. The quietude of being bankrupt, Of being emotionally impaired.... Void of obligations - Or any accountability to spare... Cuz i am just simply not there.
Thus i walk through those self-proclaimed windy lanes...by the fluid mime. Yet i walk faster- Still being chased by the footsteps of nauseatic verisimilitude behind as i seek a pinch of lime. Also pauses too keen for a retrograde... Yet moments left so few... Hardly any to whine, over coming back before night's doom.
As the world sets out to act carte blanche, the waters happen to stoicly reverb echoes of totality. The imprints dissolve by... So do those unsettling sounds... Circumstances annex the stage as you spectate the play. You do what they say and see the transitions overlay- You. You are just the apotheosis of your karma... You are never really going to be truly identified by your forethoughts. Wish if reality would have been just as good... So i flourish in my Island of maladaptive daydreams...
So Heads high do i keep, tracking the night's glory... As i get bothered by the touch- The touch of the tender appendages - Of the nature's embodiment as they lean... And stay mesmerised in the scents of its non-contractual warmth only to realise in this reverie... There ain't no debts to pain, No pens to sign, No banes to rain... Just a boon of sunrise and cocaine.
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