The antagonistic foster siblings of escapism has never quite unveiled itself,
Claiming to be a part of the unconventional cosmos of appeal,
The futility of ridicule is a subtle legacy,
The unrequited vengeance of my identity...
The mojo of an Earthling is still mortal after all,
Borne with colloquial charm.
The surge of a fantasy,
Embroils and acquaints itself with strangers far from being strange...
The morbidity of a taboo,
Is known to evoke an unspoken desire,
Self mutilates a metaphysical possession,
Surges within but still lampooning its virtuousness...
The freedom of the mind,
Is now familiar with the trans-morphism of the world,
Still nurturing idiocracy,
With silence that provokes uncredited revolutionary thought...
Our words have now surpassed even the best of the connoisseurs,
Still acquainted with the naivety of former possession,
Possession that has now diverged,
But has still chosen a similar kind of groove...
The coquettish reveries,
Expects to acquaint with procrastination,
Unleashes the bonafide wrath,
With the arbitrary ambiguity...
No comments:
Post a Comment
Groove to the era