Din

by Hafeez ur Rehman



I now yearn for a backdoor exit. Entirely uncharacteristic but this desire, I know, will rescue me from this constant din of life. It will be a long time before you come to terms with the empty space that got filled with see-through holes. Your only source of light. When I think of leaving I feel no lumps red eyes or carry a heavy heart. For how long can one mourn one's own demise for its lack of visual? Imagination is a poor partner of glee and grief this rush of life brings home.

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