The Start

In a foreign land,
Along the coasts of Nordic seas,
The grand show has begun,
There are the sweet faced ones,
Dressed calculatedly,
In eternal confusion,
There are the preachers,
Speaking without example,
There are the misfits,
Reaching out for recognition,
There are the tipplers,
Seeking mindless banter,
The ale flows,
And stories are told,
They don’t know,
About the blood spilled,
I hide myself,
Behind my eyes,
I seek refuge within my mind,
In a flying machine,
High in the sky,
She turned to me,
She looked through me,
Grasping my soul,
And whispered,
“Would you take my hand?”

– Gaurav Krishnan

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