Saturday, December 06, 2014


Not the darkness
But it is the blinding light
That makes us think its day
To dupe us, till morning arrives.

Not the clouds
But the clear sky
Makes us believe its all well
To fool us, till sudden downpour it is.

It is not mistrust
But love;
Getting overt and excess
To reach a point, to suffocate love itself.

It is not love
But the sense of self
Overshadowing, candid but an uncontrolled demon

To murder love, by ego. 

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