Served before us ancestrally like a vintage wine
Running through our shrinking veins like rotten blood
Ego – a delusional booster. A myth of self-dynamism.
Our pale-blue world suspended like a mote of dust in the sunbeam
Our existence thriving on a spurious edge of forever
Oblivious to magnanimity of the Universe
Acknowledgement of a multiverse lying as a flotsam in some pieces of brains
We triumph over our perishable bracket.
Aware, yet spurning.
We sip in our delectable prides of self, of materialism, of nothingness
Day in, day out.
Waiting leisurely for our green dot to be turned blue by melting snows.
Nevertheless, somewhere, a tribe toils hard to turn it red.
Blood-red rivers. Wars. Terrorism – A respite before The Great Epilogue.
Repugnance – A religion, infant.
Altruism – A bearded man on a deathbed.
Still, we are proud – of what, still a question anticipating an answer.
Wealth – Dozing somewhere along the debris after an earthquake
Relations – Melting away with the turning pages of the calendar.
People – Turning into muzzy voices of the past eluding the minds relentlessly
Respect – Aah! A wrinkled man, unchaperoned, axed by his ostentatious progeny
Our pride – a tesseract – a projection of our self over time
We gulp it – relishing its flamboyancy no matter how untrue
Our ego – a soul-numbing antidote unshackling the sentience of a feeble self
Ego – A twig, we muse – thwarting us from drowning in the realities of the unreal world
Pride – Ugly, yet a savior from the depressive self-destruction episode.
Pride – A glass of wine – Sparklingly ambivalent.
~ Damini Kala
Running through our shrinking veins like rotten blood
Ego – a delusional booster. A myth of self-dynamism.
Our pale-blue world suspended like a mote of dust in the sunbeam
Our existence thriving on a spurious edge of forever
Oblivious to magnanimity of the Universe
Acknowledgement of a multiverse lying as a flotsam in some pieces of brains
We triumph over our perishable bracket.
Aware, yet spurning.
We sip in our delectable prides of self, of materialism, of nothingness
Day in, day out.
Waiting leisurely for our green dot to be turned blue by melting snows.
Nevertheless, somewhere, a tribe toils hard to turn it red.
Blood-red rivers. Wars. Terrorism – A respite before The Great Epilogue.
Repugnance – A religion, infant.
Altruism – A bearded man on a deathbed.
Still, we are proud – of what, still a question anticipating an answer.
Wealth – Dozing somewhere along the debris after an earthquake
Relations – Melting away with the turning pages of the calendar.
People – Turning into muzzy voices of the past eluding the minds relentlessly
Respect – Aah! A wrinkled man, unchaperoned, axed by his ostentatious progeny
Our pride – a tesseract – a projection of our self over time
We gulp it – relishing its flamboyancy no matter how untrue
Our ego – a soul-numbing antidote unshackling the sentience of a feeble self
Ego – A twig, we muse – thwarting us from drowning in the realities of the unreal world
Pride – Ugly, yet a savior from the depressive self-destruction episode.
Pride – A glass of wine – Sparklingly ambivalent.
~ Damini Kala
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