AI (24.10.1960 / Bangalore)

Deep Injury

to the deprived


Was it the love that never was?
Made in disguise so well the cause
Wept well its soul in beseeching
Unto what was never ever reaching

Hands stretched in agony a pity
Towards the unknown real entity
As consoles the condemned self
Cold and weary within itself

As sealed the night in wallowing thought
The self so burned with love so taut
The ending so a fairy tale
Some blessings above so sail

Some weary thoughts they dip and drive
'Tis strange they pain as if deprived
But when it's dawn and somewhat bright
They're sure to visit again upright

Wept well its soul in beseeching
Unto what was never ever reaching
Made in disguise so well the cause
Was it the love that never was?

When reality grounds its beam and smiles
Those dangered thoughts take on a mile
With wrapped glory the love seems right
Then come rejoice as things are bright

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