Deception is an art. I have deceived many, but not with a deceiving heart or feeling. All my acts of deceptions were result of this oppression called life. I was cornered by the ghosts of my own ruthlessness, I have been chased down and constantly shaken by the phantoms of my imagination. I waited, long, with more endurance and faith in this society that one day it would change. The art of deceptions will be addressed or quashed. But my wait was in vain, because i know this boredom of routines, that never ending routine of sunrises and sunsets, I find no respite. Every time I see the black art of deception blanketing my common sense to do the “right” I feel complacent. The days are of morbid smiles and swollen scars. Much of me had already died, many organs in me have stopped ticking. Time has the coin, days have the call and I, I have life, non moving, stagnant, lost in the trail of justice and injustice, weeping in the silence of a Christmas night. I feel I’m over, but the next day everything returns, the deception, the karma, the love, the fate.. the other monstrous things of body and lips, black and white, sane and insane memories. Mad..Mad..Mad..Mad..


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