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By Ananya Iyer

Entangled by own existence,

I have driven myself mad.

Where is peace, my friends?

They tell me to be one with God,

Yet the clergy only recites tales,

About torment and agony.

And here I am,

Tormented by my own existence,

In agony, from my own feelings.

So at times, I stoop to God,

At times I seek refuge in wine.

When oblivious,

I vanish from myself.

When conscious,

I am in anguish.

Where shall one go?

When I look all over me,

I find my own being,

Exposed and hidden.

By Ananya Iyer

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