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By Ankit Chaudhari

If the past is really past, and the future is still to be coming, why as I seat here, all that is done is not enough, all that could be is so numb.

Why as I dream these days insane, if nothing means to me is same, in some hope of frame yet to be, why this love is caged inside us, in the time we never chose to be.

As strong as it goes, the way that it holds, the desires that I sold,

in dreams which I mould, are not what they used to be.

Look around, the life is short,

only way in which you,

never meant to be.

As you deserve a person,

That I still could be,

And I want the person,

That you used to be.

By Ankit Chaudhari

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