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UNTITLED

we sit around
waiting,

for the right
time to decide
if we should let
our hearts decide
finally, what
our head warns
against.
we sit around
mooing,
grumbling under
our breaths
knowing the solution
to the questions we
so lazily repose,
rephrase,
but stubbornly
deny.
we sit around
on bums aching
asking why
our lives
aren't seasoned
by a God
we so often;
in hypocritical elegance, deny.
he beckons,
we run,
and  back,
we come crawling
on scalled knees.
we sit around
frozen,
by the melt down
of the very many
emotions,
we suppressed all
the while
saying,
"tomorrow, I will address this",
decades upon decades ago.
we sit around
with our necks
bent around, struggling
to catch a glimpse
of the other's worries,
trying so hard at
seeming uncaring
to the rumours
running around their
affairs.
we drop our's
and pick up their's
with utmost criticism
and lust to dominate
we sit around
in square-shaped
circles
of unequal ends,
killing precious time,
fixing each other
with disintegrating tools.
layers upon layers of
broken pieces
forced together,
in organized chaotic
indiscipline
we sit around
waiting for
a pre planned
miracle,
chosen with careful
and precise judgement.
waiting,
never receiving,
losing,
never obtaining
we sit around,
tonight,
looking at the constellation
mooing over
a thousand and three things
we would do better
if we were one of the shining things
high above
as we sit and shit
in each
other's affairs.
g.o.
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