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Sunday, April 26, 2020

Poem | When Midnight Strikes




When the clock strikes midnight…
And darkness encompasses all in the sight…


The time comes to a standstill…
Your own thoughts now grill …

Every if, every but, every decision ever made…
To free the bird or let it remain in the cage…

The moments and memories, even now, they haunt…
Life, yet again, laughs with an evil taunt…  

Only the travelers know the meaning of the journey…
The longingness of destination in this mysterious haze…

Yet again, the tears breach the line…
‘Stop! No!’ I say, but it is useless now to whine…

Questioning the stars and moon…
Were there ever chances of "happiness” soon?

Empty roads, dim streetlights, and silenced sky…
So much like this mislead heart of my…

Where to, what is next, what now…
The answer to which I know not…

Wish the coin tosses gave the hoped reaction…
Every step taken came with reversing solution…  

The knots tighten around the throat and heart alike…
The pain stabs with a hundred sharp knives…

What do you think of yourself?
Who do you think you are?

Rights over me, commanding control and more…
Knowing every move and every spot sore…

Restraining the uncaptured…
Playing with the memories painted in red blood…

The muffled screams, claustrophobic breath…
The grief to which words do no justice…

The blade of the past penetrates down the throat…
Puncturing everything it touches, spirit and soul…

There is no way to merely "repair" what is already done…
I am not a toy or a watch to put under maintenance zone…

Sweaty palms and smiles missed…
Miles apart with unsettled destiny…

Caged laughter, dreams askew, and throbbing scars…
Agony breaks into the oblivion from the faith of ours…

How indeed and where to, do I run away from myself?
To escape the realities and anguish itself…  

Wish I could hide from the obvious, fooling the ruining fate…
Kill all the feelings, press the reset switch, and give one lifetime a miss…

With every inhale I still feel the same smell…
Of the days passed and nights rotten as hell…

The vision of a distorted mind makes even the finest mirror break...
Each dusk to daylight, this story chooses to repeat itself...

The night, like a routine, dies a thousand deaths...
Only to arise, at dawn, as a smiling, bubbling, and cheerful mate...

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