I am given
the world of
mirage,
cyclones
and a few dreams.
I search and search for
A synonym of life,
breath only
the exhaled air devoid of life.
With the burden of the past
and my own, too,
I curl on myself and
pushed to the margins ,
with wants
I groan.
Within myself
I am yet to be born,
perhaps tomorrow .
Shall I be?
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