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Writer's pictureMaya Krishnamurty

Hope is the thing with feathers...

Oh handful of hope, wither goest thou?

But a flicker of light, do these weary eyes seek out.


Time and again in darkness they grope,

Through immeasurable despair, hanging by an invisible rope.


Oh faith and fidere, dost thou detest me so terribly?

Stoking fire to them thoughts that cast me into misery.


Looking up to see this insurmountable peak

I wonder for all I climb, how high I can reach .



Oh melancholy mind, why dost thou distress me?

With all the doubts and apprehensions for as far as sight can see.


The brain tries so hard not to wander

The heart is despondent, cast asunder.


Oh shattered heart, where lives thine desire?

The brightest stars burn the fastest, go rekindle that fire.


The world will fit you in a box

Break free from it, unshackle your thoughts.


Oh lost soul, what is it you seek,

From a universe of chaos, and lost eternity?



Peace, in a realm of crash and burn

Love, in a world of fake and learn.

Hope, in a universe of broken mirrors

Truth, in a void of endless fears.

Life, in its fathomless entirety

Oh, what an idyll that would be,

To be so limitless and free.

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