Amidst all inclusion lies her own exclusion!
There was a storm,
loud and numb as a norm,
swirling strongly and swaying sideways
coaxing her to slide into dimly lit alleys,
where whispers of mind and heart collide,
making way for noises and murmurs that refuse to die,
as if the drums are upbeat about entering somewhere,
and violins are strumming strings persistently to let music simmer,
Yet there was not a glimmer of joy,
and all seemed like a whimsical ploy,
May be to embrak on an escapade to wonderlands
even though the chaos led her to hinterlands.
She was entangled yet estranged.
She was excited yet deranged.
There was order yet everything was inane.
There was dream yet everything was strange.
The head and heart were embroiled in a scuffle.
The soul was writhing in pain seeing writings on the wall.
The gut was gyrating to notes of a conundrum.
The breaths were embalmed with anxiety so dumb.
She knew something has been switched off.
She could sense she is sliding along the trough.
Everything was perfect yet all it appaerd was bluff.
Her desires were flagrant, efforts were brimming, yet her contentment was probing if this is enough.
With all in her stride and with ripening of her ride, there was a blot of black on her impeccable whites,
and as she tagged along the inevitable yet pulled apart by those invisible probables, she had lost all the zeal to swear by sides.
She just longed for an intermission,
to reflect on her progression,
as all of the procession seemed like regression,
and brushing aside bits and pieces of accession,
she was waiting to find her querentia
in a bowl full of possesions,
for amidst all the worldly inclusions,
she has become wary of her own exclusion.