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I wrote a story about a boy
Who was always happy and carefree.
The story was short and a happy-ending!
I folded the pages and placed it under my pillow
Morning, I again opened the pages to complete it
But the ending was already written,
Vacant, void as those white sheet of papers,
having faint traces of happy letters written yesterday.
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I asked my past, "Who am I?"
Past replied, "Ask with your present."
I asked my present, "Who am I?"
Present replied, "Ask with my future."
I asked with my future also, "Who am I?"
Future remained silent where,
Past and Present were laughing at me.
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A seedling once thrown carelessly,
After thousands of years
Sprouted into a beautiful plant
Where pleasant flowers of my dreams
Bloomed like I'd yearned for so long.
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The yatch of life flowing random
With the uneven tides of thunderstorm
The dark night engulfing
My destination with its fiery convolutions
Finally reaching the shores of void.
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