There is this box in my room on my work table full of blank postcards and sticky notes. Whenever I sit on the chair near that table I feel like Writing letters to everyone regarding their place in my life. I feel like putting all those sticky notes all over my room Not to remind things to myself but to write all the good words that come to my mind So that , I can use them in my poems whenever I want. I really feel like doing this. But the heap of files Kept in front of that box Liquidate my desire Everytime. And there is this box in my room Full of blank postcards and sticky notes Stays there, as it is.
Lost footprints or gained ways? isn't it abstract but it's good for coming days lead your way don't let it lead feet may stick to it if this happens, they will bleed Go further go for good destiny lies don't loose way in wood
Woven words or Creepy heart breaks? deadly swords or lovely overtakes? Beautiful souls or haunting heads? Sweet homes or noisy beds? Thousand puzzles or one soft corner? silent sleep or night with snorer? Rewinding Past or troubling future Aimless life or Perfect shooter? Dancing Mind or bleeding heart? Whom should I listen is the difficult part!!"
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