Expectations fret once more,
They never seem to say die,
Raising again from the phoenix,
Hopes never let stem the try.
Hell's edge, or heaven's gates,
Desires sprout a life of its own,
Be it barren waste land,
Tiny tender seeds always get sown.
They may grow into trees,
But mostly they wither and die,
They r not meant to fructify,
As much, to nurture a lie.
How does one cut away,
How does one go beyond,
Those vile chains of wines,
Those heartless unforgiving bonds?
They never seem to say die,
Raising again from the phoenix,
Hopes never let stem the try.
Hell's edge, or heaven's gates,
Desires sprout a life of its own,
Be it barren waste land,
Tiny tender seeds always get sown.
They may grow into trees,
But mostly they wither and die,
They r not meant to fructify,
As much, to nurture a lie.
How does one cut away,
How does one go beyond,
Those vile chains of wines,
Those heartless unforgiving bonds?
So good to see you back after a long hiatus! ! Such a sublime piece.
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