Melancholist by ANINDYA GANGULY
From the broken crevices of a silent dawn
When one seeks into the creaks of a lonesome heart,
There lives a vagabond striding the lanes where he is soon to tread.
The magma of a colonialist’s notion remains putrid from the past;
The fate yearned from his dormant dreams.
Surviving is a sordid fallacy of a creator’s charm,
Of a man’s hopes trapped in a seine of dampened loin.
Time bequeaths a master seeking to the honor of being served.
His imperialistic ideologies stumble across his coercing thoughts
Drawn upon to experiment over the valor’s wit and courage.
When one seeks into the creaks of a lonesome heart,
There lives a vagabond striding the lanes where he is soon to tread.
The magma of a colonialist’s notion remains putrid from the past;
The fate yearned from his dormant dreams.
Surviving is a sordid fallacy of a creator’s charm,
Of a man’s hopes trapped in a seine of dampened loin.
Time bequeaths a master seeking to the honor of being served.
His imperialistic ideologies stumble across his coercing thoughts
Drawn upon to experiment over the valor’s wit and courage.
The foe of a felony is too a crime of the convict yet to subsist
Quite a charming is his thoughts in the lane of a pious mind
The complexity of a simple plan never works, ever say
Where is the dormant desire stored of a lover living through?
The dungeons of a Satan’s doom waits upon Gabriel’s arrival.
As forever time leaps upon the trenchancy of a Universe’s life.
Nothing to live for, nothing to die with,
is the melancholic tragedy of a Soloist’s ephemeral existence.
Quite a charming is his thoughts in the lane of a pious mind
The complexity of a simple plan never works, ever say
Where is the dormant desire stored of a lover living through?
The dungeons of a Satan’s doom waits upon Gabriel’s arrival.
As forever time leaps upon the trenchancy of a Universe’s life.
Nothing to live for, nothing to die with,
is the melancholic tragedy of a Soloist’s ephemeral existence.
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