It was naive when I blasted on a colleague and blurted, “Who are you …….?”

The rest of the sentence I can’t recall, but some thing went amiss. The invalid thoughts of agony often argue the same. The integrity of malady is tested against the strength of my will. The debacle of existence of the unknown is questioned with the three words, “who are you”?

Many a times, I call it past. The other times I lay back and label the tag; Lost Love.

In honest hour;  You are a desire, I surrender to. A monument I made on the grave of my hopes. A light I seek in sense of utter darkness. You are transparency of indigenous sadness lying within me. You are the question in yourselves. You are the answer for my existence and you are the root for my survival.

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