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By Mukesh Choudhry

The amusement of a lie;

A tragedy, yet true.

I've been enslaved, as is the folly of man,

In the pursuit of truth,

In reach of the fruit.

In the limiting forever of bounded freedom,

The frame of human booth,

Smiling tears of sorrowful cheers

Amidst the encouraging jeers,

Handling exhaustions of a crackling tooth.

Persuasions of the tired, spoken in silence,

To a room full of quite buzzing deafness;

I could not die dead.

Never heard of, never said,

I lived, a life, living, out of breath;

For a forgotten remembrance lead,

A familiar strangeness in minds,

An unknowing smile, behind, that,

Crept and stayed in bed.

By Mukesh Choudhry

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