Cribbing bout pressures which lead to a certain or a string of failures seems so absurd at times, yet so common a practice for others. Often it so happens, cribbing is a personal choice you succumb to rather than choose. He has been around guys with a theory behind everything, even failures which they knew was inevitable. He couldn’t be one of them. He wasn’t even the guy who would go for a kill and win his success; though talented he was in his own way. But then, the talents defining him were useless without the zeal to go on. All he had was a natural talent to “move” on. He was the wine and everyplace he went was his unholy grail.
A sojourner without a mission,
A scavenger without an ocean,
A gypsy without a band,
A stubborn waste without a helping hand,
He moved from place to place,
Searching for a certain kill,
Sliding down emotions,
And time stood still.
Mission bell too loud,
Yes, he has a mission,
Yet nothing to make him proud.
Suicidal gypsy and an ardent scout.
Smoky minutes and fluid nights,
Sudden shudders and flight of frights.
The question still haunts,
“Do I deserve what I sight?”
The present wears a smile,
A bit too fragile,
Weeds on his coming dawns,
While half lit memory haunts.
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