A heart of sadness,
on a spectators’ pilgrimage
to the regions of the unknown.
I wish I knew.
I wish I could recuperate.
Insatiable but... voluntary.
I am the woes that belittle me,
caste divided in dark dimensions,
reminiscing in torpid corners.
I’m far too nostalgic for my young age.
I’m far too sympathetic.
Dharma is a duty
that falls below the aspiring.
I am sorry,
your presence is unknown.
until I remember it

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