Being of Within
It's raining today.
Why do I see black puddles
sprinkled like molten lava
on every turn I take.
The rain is black too.
Confused, I pass by a lane.
It's flooded with images of me
smiling.
They flicker and then:
gone.
I was my memory lane,
my happy moments alone.
All of a sudden,
a huge figure intimidates me,
where, in place of arms, there are
responsibilities on either side.
Its chest is full of regrets,
overflowing like a soda bottle.
But they are stopped by something
stuck in between the throat;
it is society.
True, it never lets me
cry a little for the sake of
living a spoonful.
Its legs are chained by
work of office and never-ending
job.
Its head is full of self-doubt.
I pause, I mull over, I sigh;
the figure bends over me
and pats my head.
I freeze for a moment,
look into its hollow eyes.
There's no life in its eyes,
but a lifeless liveliness.
It cries.
A smile which wasn't there before
appears, though in cracks.
I cry with it too.
We hug like two palms.
I wonder why it feels so familiar.
Is it me?
It breaks the hug and glows golden
and makes way.
A sun rises from there as it vapourises:
a new day.
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