The Consignment

In the quest of sovereignty,
the way of estranging the soul
often gets lost amidst the assiduity.
The spry mind sometimes
cannot smite the pursuance.

If the sun could get cold
in the loss of the effulgence,
it would show an epitome of fallacy.
The ray pervaded is lost
in the way.
If immaculacy prevailed,
it would again bequeath the ray.

In the vehement try
to express lucidly,
the impish mind has to work.
And we, adhering to the delusion
of the scrawny mind establish us
as the epitome of disgrace.

In the colorful smile of the newborn,
there lurks the hyaline soul.
Contamination with time
is irrespective of pouring knavery.
Merely the intuition of perseverance of sanctity
is the emanation of bliss.

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