Aren’t we all stories?

Some buried 6 feet down,

Some Alive,

Narrating our presence,

Reminiscing those magical moments,

We all reside in that little world of ours,

Those tormented souls, The pleasant ones too,

They want to rest,

They have asked much of it,

As I mark their presence, I see them taking turns around the stories they have to narrate,

Unique, Exquisite, Inspiring & Dark,

They are pretty aged,

It doesn’t end with materialistic things, It’s far beyond,

Untouched by those eery desires,

They have risen,

This time for good,

As I watch them in awe,

They were not to be blamed.


Buy Me A Coffee kalcopyright

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