In the dust-laden dirty rooms.
A flight that's born,
Is an answer to the vast sky.
In a pain-ridden lonely heart,
The melodies that linger are
Replies from the mighty gods.
On a bitterly blue night,
A sunny smile is such a
Revenge on the satanic lord-
The faded photograph in
In the corner, Is a put-up fight
Against oblivion's havoc.
A tug-of-war in my head
Has spilled enough blood on
A paper- a poem is carved.
A pair of wings can be
Cooked in the kitchen,
Redemption now has a recipe.
Existence is cold but we're bold.
Art is our mark, against the
Challenges cosmos throws--
Drums and guitars against
The raging fire. Flutes and
Pianos to choke the volcanic ire.
If the apocalypse is the
Bigger picture--
The music that's brewing in
Our cookers shall be our
Preferred mode of answer.
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