Desire, fiction and poetry, Heart, india, Life, lost, pain, Poems, Poetry, think


A train passes me by like a bullet
People surround me like a swarm of bees
till I become one of them
Instituted and brain washed.
Riding the bullet
To places where my creativity succumbs
and brain acts like a fucker with no love involved
doing monotonic fucking periodic motions.
But Why?
Because we trust our feared heart more than our balls.

© Shashank Bhardwaj.


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