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Fifteen Lines, One Hundred and Sixteen Words.

Imperfect and flawless
The misfits and the signature of God’s Poetry
Two parts of the broken fragments of society
Two floating souls who collided and turned into one family
One closer to eternity, the other, about to fulfil destiny
Both strong, but possibly one more vunerable
The air was putrid sewage
And the odour of pain, irrespirable
It hit them hard, but one harder
Till he couldn’t bear the agony and stopped trying to push further
Staying alive is a decision, one could say
For it is brave to live and takes strength to finally give up
Eight hours in ceaseless pain
While God was saying, “No worries, you won’t ever have to do this again”

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4 thoughts on “Fifteen Lines, One Hundred and Sixteen Words.

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