I plucked and picked
picked and plucked

broken gravels and mended ligaments
ashen corpse and worm-curry
masked failures and never occurring success
salty tears on sugar-coated worry

watch everyone grow and wither
boomerang play and tear
houses haunted and empty
crippled ant finally on top of molehill

and I live on the same path

afraid of dancing monkeys
and my dream choking on mis-happenings

but
I stand tall

picking mangoes from my graveyard
knowing I had a staggered start.

 

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(because I refuse to give up)

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Short Message:

Hey Guys! I read somewhere that writing comes to you in waves. And if you catch it by it’s tail before it crosses you , you create something wonderful. My problem is no waves areΒ  directed my way. So I am facing a huge writer’s block. I need your help. Sprinkle me with some tips beautiful ppl.

Lots of Love, Shikha

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