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May 2020
It was but a rising tide than an explosion,
Bringing life to a halt, but still we endure,
Time was always a luxury I couldn't afford,
Now that I have so much of it I fail to be cured,
Cured of this stillness that resides within me,
Courage to create eludes and blankness stares back from the mirror,
Am I just a shadow of who I once was?
Was I once a shadow mistaken for light?
A distant audience to my own mediocre life,
All that I learned goes to waste in the dungeons of my mind,
Everything new spills out for no more can be accommodated within,
Does everyone else too feel bleak like a dying tree?
Is it me who is just dead inside,
So self absorbed and blinded to my surroundings,
Washed in self pity that I can't see what lies at the next step,
Then again why do I believe a word I say,
When this sadness has become my security blanket.
Ankit J Chheda
Written by
Ankit J Chheda  28/M/Mumbai
(28/M/Mumbai)   
147
     SUDHANSHU KUMAR and Bogdan Dragos
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