History doesn’t rhyme with irony anymore
Rises and falls have come to terms with my chores
Feeling just like a bride
With something old to remind me of something new
And something borrowed to match my something blue
There’s an idylic innocence inside my self
At the core of so many worn-out trials and tides
Fears which refuse to be inked inside bread - and – butter letters
Narcissistic fears, free of charge,
felt on and off like an unreliable network of hope
imitation is so popular these days
limitation - so natural
all abusive conservationists can be sent away-
All we need is an equal number of mothers and fathers.

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