The dimensional beauty

Wither in a moment, blossom the other,

What do you call the running time;

Mishaps in a moment, miracle the other,

What do I call the running time;

Given a chance to end this loop,

Nope, I am not gonna try;

You would ask me, but when heartbreaks?

I would do nothing but accept and cry;

Do you see this endless beauty,

You would be such a fool to wish it ends;

Happiness indeed comes with pain,

Sure they are companions and run each others’ errands;

Do you not see the tears you trade to smiles,

Ruining the gardens and asking for fruits;

How more deaf can you be,

For unhearing the delicacy of the natures’ flutes;

You always run from or to making mistakes,

Have you decided this to be your trend;

Would you not listen to me now,

I will haunt you with the message;

On my grave will it be written,

Live in the moment,” my friend.

Published by penfluky

Writing is not a skill acquired through practice. Not for us, at least. Writing is a phenomenon that occurred to us when we wanted to shout our thoughts out. It happened when our brains formed a labyrinth of thoughts with no way out. The only way was to break the walls, the walls we constructed in our minds—the walls which stopped us from letting ourselves out. We broke the barriers using the mightiest weapon, the pen. Writing was our way out of that maze. Words and sentences flowed like a stream of some river, which consisted of A2Z instead of H2O. Soon the river filled the brain and the labyrinth was not visible anymore.

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