The rambling of a creative buffoon

I lose focus with the same discipline as of a wounded mother trying to save her child. Yes, I lose focus on a watch. I watch myself lose focus and my head starts to churn strange concoctions of already stored visual, sound and smell memories. The world seems to change its color and notions. Sometimes it is bright and sunny, sometimes dark and humid, each beautiful in its own way. The richness of life stands entirely on knowledge, peace, love and respect. All this in just a gaze into the scenery around me, be it wherever. A lost gaze absconding in the rebel against focus. I want to stay here forever, but as they say, you should not lose FOCUS for long, or it ruins you!

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The old school quixotic buffoon!

The light at the end of the tunnel is scary,

The darkness is an ally, rather his best friend!

He does though, wants to fly like a bird over a prairie,

He likes his freedom of thought, scarred but chuffed!

He likes his life negotiated and fought from society snubs!

He likes to walk drunk with the devil’s first of kin,

He likes to lie down on the sage of thorns,

He likes to be his own meager kingpin!

But what does he love? He is unaware!

He is mentally disable, brain in a wheelchair!

May be he loves being the average quixotic rebel!

Unfortunately inheriting the mature ideal citizen’s sickle cell!

He carries a baggage of fresh idealistic contemplation,

This does not provide for his family’s expectation!

He knows it is going to be like this till the end!

But he thinks Ideology is real, He would like to defend!

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