ELUDING STORIES
The stories of the past, wounding up so hard,Away in cast of a star, colouring of curd.
A pale glint it threw;
Though the string is hew.
Drifting amidst the space and my dreams.
With both the endways cul-de-sac in dreams.
The space is aloof, out of reach:
Happy silvery spot still shining in dark.
Each juncture etiolating lesser, neither can I hark
The symphony of plethora patience and love,
Nor the panorama of that path's curve.
A story to survive my breath, my yearnings,
my modesty, my belief in sacrificing;
Is struggling between life and death.
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