Our lives are too much with us.
All the clicks, gossips and shares,
Are not happy boons but sad layers;
A sea of troubles, little there was
Any good that made hearts move.
O! Life, here, such a pitiful waste.
To luxury, we unapologetically haste.
Out of tune, we are empty of love.
As fruits in a tree, soon dying.
Void of any taste or smell.
Or, like waters in a dried up well.
Foul and dirty, a pure waste lying.
A generation of species running rife.
To suck everything good of this life.

~ Longjam Gaurav

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4 thoughts on “Untitled”

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