I think,
We are mere fragments,
Of an imagination,
Which is distorted.
.
Suffice to let go,
Of the constraints,
That bind us,
And make us.
.
Impregnated with,
The subtlety,
Of our fibre,
So much so.
.
We start losing,
Our wit,
Our humor,
Our existence,
Our being.
.
The way out,
Is yet again.
.
That imagination
Which was
Which is
Which will be
Quintessentially ours
Forever…!