Destined puppets

Whirling round and round

In the dunes of sound

Towards unknown direction

We all are fools

At the hands of destiny

Reduced to the mere

Puppets of broken wings

Hanging infirmly on

Delicate silken strings

Flapping the bounded feathers

To change the inevitable

Clowns with high pitched

Cry for the hurting wounds

Trapped in one’s own illusion

Lost in cliche of mirth

We surrender to the fate

Living life devoid of worth…..

 

©ANKITA CHATURVEDI

 

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