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Do I need to show how bored i am
The nib of my darling pen struggles to scribble
That scattered wrinkles and the tear gives the clue
How i have betrayed my friend, despite its unwillingness
Yet i have to force him sometimes
To survive, to feel alive, to drag my soul to my body
Because without soul how can i write a poetry
Yet the creation is itself betrayed by the creator
Although i want to make sense to myself
Perhaps a lie to hold myself a little more
Like that old banyan tree who wants to be free
But the limbs of desires pulls it back to the ground.

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