Words are not yours!

Words pass you by...

Centuries of pseudo intellectualism…

Once a ‘keystone’ man in a feeble suit

blackened of  the new words’ soot.

A flower to rejoice, not the root,

what would you call him, else a coot?

For the words are not yours.

Of the one, who did fish

a catch to his own plate.

Share the appetite, not the catch!

For the words are not mine either,

a mere portrayal of sleepwalking ideas,

flowing down channel of fury.

Aided by the jukebox to resound!

To be human, be tamed by words

the profound joys of life,

down the impeccable cliff

in a mystical sea of thought.

Then back to the sleepwalk,

 surrenders the experience,

and yet another keystone at the hell’s gate,

playing the unvarying pseudo- intellect again!



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