Floating in time,
birthed into the world,
leading lives unconscious,
bleeding and healing;

Forgotten is the place we came from,
unclear is the destination of our journey,
bound to the politics of a spiritual quest,
theorized by the knowledge of our futility;

Defined by death,
and the want of freedom,
from a mortality we are forced the endure,
and the immorality of the souls that we may be;

Inhibiting these bodies,
suspended in reality,
animated by our desires,
we are all just possessed corpses.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar

Pen it... or aaa type it. u know what i mean.

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