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The curtains fall.
While one play wraps up , another begins.
The protagonist waits,
with parched soul and chafed lips.
For me to ingnite the act.

Abandoning those unheard scripts
And weakly rehearsed lines, I start my monologue.
The monologue of Solitude.
To the only listener of all times.
Darkness!
And only, Darkness it is.
The exponent of the narrative.

And there the Unknown Me rises
From the ashes of the extinct tales
And the ruins of my unwanted fears.

Then I take the stage,
Harmonise the orchestra with the heart’s ballad.
And effortlessly potray the Stories.
Stories…
Of those incessant battles within my mind.
The unhindered riot of choices.
That melting spectrum of emotions.
And of those infinite futile attempts,
To present an unbrittle self to the disowned world…

They are the Stories of the Times,
When the Dusk has set in,
And the new Dawn is yet to arrive!
With my city sleeping peacefully,
Leaving behind few sleepless forlorn souls.
Who are there,
But Never there for Me.

And when those night winds erratically hug me,
Merge with my rolling tears,
Pushes me deeper and deeper
Into that profound void of gruesome Emptiness.
Only for me to rewind those words again,
‘ I am alone. Forever Alone ‘
With only Darkness beside Me!

I rest in the blanket of Darkness.
Assured.
That my Stories will be lost in her infinity,
To be never found again.
Certain.
That unlike their false promises
Her silence will always stay.
Because that is what is left,
When they leave me behind, in ruins.

The curtains drift apart now.
As Darkness recedes backstage,
I return among those black and white souls.
To Die Again!!

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