Bleeding Words

When the pain is on rise,
When the skies bleed dry,
During the night fall,
Why does the duty call.

When the sun is high,
And blue is the sky,
Under the curtain of sweat,
Someone at home awaits.

Longer are days,
Shorter are nights,
In the month of December,
Why is there feeling of July.

Left is where it felt so right,
Yet nothing is left to the right,
In conclusion to the mystery of self,
Its not a wonder, that ego dominates.


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