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Silent Echoes

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  Life is simple, It's people who feel like pimples. No one wants to allow negativity to surround, But this is what we find digging deep down. The complexity is not in the brain, But some chord showers the thoughts' rain. Expressing seems an impossible mission, Because people's expression digs a grave called depression. Injury is not always denoted by bleeding, Sometimes it's people's comment feeding. Some feelings we can't unfollow, And thoughts belong to that mellow. Pack your existence sack, Before people throw us like a garbage bag. Peace can become a long-lasting cologne, But for that we have to be our own clown.

Pages of Reflection

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Today, a diary grabbed my attention. The author named it 'Your lost destination'. Flipping its pages, I reached down memory lane. With every flip, I explored a new window pane. Wondering for some lethargic hours, I noticed a child without any scars. I went to that child to have a true contentment's view, But the child I met left me in a mesmerized hue. "Come with me," I pleaded, heart full of zeal, Together, we'd uncover what's real. To which I got a reply with a sigh, "Ahh! The place where you currently reside, there, I am the most misunderstood guy." Well, that child was no one but me, And I left her there as that was the only space I have lived in without agony.

दिल-के-एहवाल

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एक क़ासिद रवाना किया है तुझे ऐ खुदा | कुछ हिसाब है, जो बेहिसाब है। कुछ टूटे धागे हैं, जिनके जख्म अभी भी ताज़े हैं। कुछ शिकवे हैं, जो अपनों से मिले, इसलिए तजुर्बे के तोहफ़े हैं। कुछ इक़्तियार हैं, जो बड़े ही बेकार हैं। कुछ चेहरे हैं, जिन पर पड़े शराफ़त के पर्दे हैं। कुछ धोके हैं, जो फ़िक्र के नाम से दामन में लोगों ने बाँधे हैं। कुछ बेईमानों के क़र्ज़े हैं, जो तेरे हवाले हम करते हैं। गुफ़्तगू होगी जब तेरे शहर में, उस दिन का इंतज़ार हम करते हैं।

Suffocating Room of Life

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Standing on the verge of the first inning, While the other is about to begin. Confused about which memory to pluck,  But my trunk is already filled with bad luck. Want to wait for the door of happiness to open, But the stool of forbearance is broken. The wardrobe of hopes is jammed tight, The folder of delight is kept at a height.  I also lost the key to my blissful locker, Where I used to hide my inside joker.   The extinguished lamp is lying on the side table,  Personifying how much I'm disabled. A luxurious vase is kept, but it's not stable, Just like people's emotions that wobble. The table where I used to get dressed, Now looking at the mirror I only feel depressed. The places that used to hold delight, Are full of meaningless fights. Just sitting & counting each breath, Eventually, I'm becoming a dried well, which will be valued, when I'll be embraced by death.

The most used dustbin

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  Feeling like a most used Dustbin, That is full of agony's pin. People come running, But, just to throw in their thinking. But repercussions of their reactions?!! No one visits to see its dilapidated condition. Standing at the same place, Waiting for someone to empty the trash that it contains. No one will come, to change its fate. Because no one wants to be its loyal mate. Visitors will keep coming to throw, Because no one owns empathy to borrow. Still, this dustbin will smile and accept every difficulty, Because at least it is the one for people to throw away their cups of sorrow's tea.

A bowl full of doubt

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  Holding precious merchandise, The skull is the designation of the device. The material stuffed in it is specialized. Designed by God for using by being wise. Unfortunately, the device and being wise are at the rage. Too much good cannot reside in the same cage. More bad with a pretentious tinch of good gravitates.  When it comes to being vicious, the cerebrum accelerates. But exceptions are part of life, And in that hemisphere, some brains lie. Why are thoughts so difficult to magnify? Why is it so tough to be vocal when situations require? More than a brain it's a bowl full of doubt. Numerous deadly combinations keep on popping out. Why can’t people follow God's system layout?  By pulling the pessimist cut-out.

A venture of finding the one who is known.

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In this 23 year-long venture. What I have attained is a bucket full of ruptures. Those who ruled my heart. Have broken it beautifully with their art. No one exists on whom I can rely. And I always fail badly whenever I try. Even if I want to, people show me why I shouldn't embark. And all I am left with is the excruciating remark. Took some pills, To yield some vicious skills. Striving hard to learn the lessons on hatred. But this stupid mind ruled by the heart is dumb at these trades. At times I question my very own soul, Why do I even exist in a world full of assholes? Might be the peculiarities I owe are either too expensive or so cheap, That people don't even want to peep. Looking for the destination which is meant only for me. Hope that place and loving loyal heart exist in this world and not posthumously in my destiny.