Where the truth goes to die

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Bury your dreams
Beneath half measures
And excuses:
‘It’s too late’…‘I’m too old’…
Cloak your melancholy now
In robes of sunshine
Forged with gold.

Shred your fantasies
To bits, watch them
Scatter by
Clumsy, craggy feet,
Worn out by journeys
To impulsive lands,
Where the truth goes
To die.

Don’t you just love to whine?
Sulk, sulk, sulk;
Suckle at the breasts of your mis-
fortune, manufactured
In dark rooms and
On typewriters weary
Of deceit.

– Sumeet Keswani

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