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He sits in the corner, sipping his black coffee,
Wearing an indifferent expression, neither violent nor meek,
He watches the people, running away from themselves,
He wonders at them, “Dunno how that helps”,

He has seen a lot and has gone through much,
He pretends he shut it,but it opens at a touch,
The evenings of laughter, the mornings of joy,
Sometimes feeling as if he was treated like a toy,

He sees people thinking that they will forget,
He laughs at these fools, and wished they never met,
He sips his black coffee, storms stirring inside,
He must choose an option.now he must decide,

To be with these people and be like just them,
Or run away from everything,turn all in the flames,
I don’t know what he will do, but I will be with him,
For he is the voice the screaming within.

PS:- I know off late my poems might have lost that touch. It happens. I do not feel like writing anything romantic anymore…. may be some personal reasons, but these things are not anymore for me…. I might even stop writing… It takes too much to bring on paper what goes inside my mind. I do not write fictional poetry. I write what I have seen. I write my own experiences….. perhaps that is the reason I do not wish to write anymore… I am fed up of being at the receiving end all the time and telling about it on my blog…may be I am ashamed of myself…of failing time and again…. May be… It always happens 😦

Just pray this was the last time I fell for someone…I wish either I could never rise…or rise so much that I could never see anyone worthy enough to fall for…

😦