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Destiny smeared with blood

The path that shan’t be,

lone travelers,

wrinkled faces,

defeated by travails,

modest sarees and muddied shirts,

connoisseur of crops,

ripped of smile and prosperity,

feeding strangers with love,

no tenderness to the kind yet helpless hands feeding us,

till desperation strikes,

leaving modest village comfort,

taking pain, tears and memory as belongings,

plodding tireless on the path,

where lovers are estranged and unknown to each other,

night owls turning into seekers,

what is this destination you crave for?

 braving storms,

hunger and thirst,


tired soles,

destiny smeared with blood,  

why maketh pain pleasure?