It's not always the mild circled merry go-rounds of evangeline Neither the halos of baffled Gods in the brink of skies. It's Life , the circle. The grotesque of grinding teeth to rotten bouquets always giggle to the rampant sores of bleeding heart. Tormenting self over the anomaly of exodus, frowned eye-brows haunt for reasons to thrive upon To be the contradictions of pairs being lone To be the au revoir for every flesh & bone To be ...& to Not be the strings that disappear in thin air yet leaning to existence at times of The Kite's crisis ! In this manifesto of chaotic ensembles in a melancholic muse running past the meadows in constant daylight Consoles thy heart of not being alone, darkness(shadows) chasing at plain-sight Grims & grudges being held back ... The grimoire of ecstatic charms resiliently abucting the negative commotion of greiving emotions and alongwith it choking empathy. Screeching through the surface and deep, still doesn't find the core ,the solidarity, This being; Eldorado's prince to Eliot's(T.S Eliot) apprentice, no one who explores such,ever seeks answers Khwahishein
