sometimes,

and,to not think much.

But,think a hell lot.

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i am mysteriously quiet.

on all that requires my speech.

 

there are times,

i am overwhelmed,

have less clues.

and those are times,

i thud,land..

on the tarmac of gross reality.

 

the weather is not fine,

Captain warns,

i insist,he opens the emergency wings.

 

or take me down,

with the disturbed pitch.

 

something,i can’t make of this.

but,flight has landed already.

 

with me in it.

 

sitting staring at my dream!

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