The peals of laughter seems so spiteful
With its sympathetic touch,
It is really frightful.
Everything in life is cursed.
But cursed be life
For the birth of such superfluous emotions,
Full of redemptions,
Spanning beyond the reach
Of the tattered and the scattered
Grains of torrential curse.
Here, reasons never win,
When attachments feel to prick
The relationships, which pass by
The whirlwind of mortal dreams
With a feel of ecstasy.
Those moments uphold soft
The night with no burning light
And the days which are
No more that unfelt bright.
Even the shades are no more cool.
Simple actions are turned
Into a plethora of complex dispositions.
Platonic attractions
Are sacrificed unto the satanic altar.
Oxymoron is what becomes living life.
Which is now cursed –
Life or death?
What to choose?
Is what confused?