We are a hurled pawn,
A piece of trajectory and envoy,
Trapped in the hologram,
With nowhere to escape
We are reaching out; begging to     be let out.
There is a force, a force which
Is pushing us.
Pushing towards the dead-end.
The end looks quaint and weary;
With a queer sense of remorse.
The pristine core looks obliterated;
With a convoluted Carte Blanche..

                ~NIKITA MANSINGHKA