I stand, amongst the birch trees,

In the darkness, I am alone.

I start walking, destination quite unknown,

My feet bare, my trousers torn,

From the thorny shrubs that border the imaginary road, old and worn,

The eerie silence engulfing my moan.

In the distance, I see a spot of brightness,

I scramble through the unclean forest-shack,

The darkness seems to pull me back,

And. I’ve got my wounds to thank.

Yet I trudge ahead, breaking through the hefty greens,

Shrubs breaking under the force of my shins,

As the spot of brightness, at me, gleams,

Flickering the darkness, waiting for me.

I pick up my pace,

I feel as if the two sides are pulling at me,

But the spot of light gleamed with even more grace,

As the moonbeam shafts of light bathe me,

I was invigorated into haste,

And I broke into a pace.

But then again, I felt,

My mortal fetters tugging at me,

I opened my eyes and saw everything around me was a waste,

A cataclysm, desolation as far as the eyes could see.

I closed my eyes,

For it was better here, than there.

– Indrashish Mitra

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