When a lonely strech, yawns about,
and the guardian angels call in sick,
I'll be there to dispell the sorry clout,
emtombing your worries, brick by brick....
call it dabbling with taboos,
or sick insinuations like some pugnacious shenanigan ....
as i sieve through your psyche, hunting for clues....
for any illicit leanings of the sort, from the time, we had 'begun'.....
why does it always rain on me.....
the clouds rumble to your voice's reverberation...
the rain drops tap a rythmn to my unrecquited plea.....
and camouflage my tears, borne of our separation......
misgivings galore,
decapitating my attempts towards legitimacy...
bringing to fore,
the deeply engrained cultural orthodoxy....
consigned, to steer my desires from behind the veils...
mutely spectating,
as some other being, acquires the centrestage of your life....
can't wince, even as my resilience fails,
wearing a constant gag, stricken alone, by this strife....
Who says, i can't get stoned alone,
in face of hopes, incinerating in a smoky plume....
in a clammy shell, my feelings, i enscone....
perhaps you never learned to love angels, whispered the vaccuum......
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