Repined from the Isles of mind

Rendered by the curse of insomniac nights

I walk alone in this dark alley

With a torch in my hand

I know not, if I’ll find that Gold

For I have been in these streets before

And always returned impoverished

The address delivered to me is always changed

New houses, new shacks and quarters, I find

Every time I take a turn

The gangling structures of unfathomable desires

The dark moats of untrenching expectations

The rocketing skies of spindling hopes

All of them throw a string around my neck

And pull, whenever they want

The torch in my hands, drops

The shackles of these unprecedented games

Trick me, and I fall

Every single time.

But not anymore

For the strings attached

Will be cut with a knife concealed in my sleeve

And I’ll pick up that torch again

To find that lost treasure

To scavenge my inner peace

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