The insult to sober conviction unsettles the saints.
Give me your hand, to solve this problem.
An abstract idea joins the postures of different conflicts,
the worship of crumpled illusions.
After great sufferings only proverbs give a soothing effect.
Images blur, misspent energy distorts the palisade of love.
Perhaps history repeats itself.
Moon cries at midnight looking beneath the soft clouds,
to follow eternity.
Past & present are losers.
The trustworthy future does not hold any promise.
Again questioning brings the numbness on surface.
The agony of realization, moves away from just mistakes.
It is hard to smash the strong beliefs.
A self-denial brings the death of truth.
I am alone in the heat of an argument, pathless, rising, sinking.
