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My City, Gen-Next, Slammed

A dreamer’s politics

The dream that you foster Upon the nest of the nation Sails on the exquisite bangs of time
By Sushant Thapa

                                                                 


The dream that you foster


Upon the nest of the nation


Sails on the exquisite bangs of time


But, wayward to the oblivion


 


I search for a present in it


Not even a Freudian-slip you would stand with


An ovation! To your crony-fatale


Not even crossing the boundaries


Inwards on the horizon


Reflected into the waters of stagnant potential


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Be it a dream and dream it off!


For, no Damocles’ sword hangs above you


At your altar you preach


The vanity of your presence


A fair too lanky


Jump the gun and broke the barrel of history


 


 Oh! But, is it in need?


Swaying on the bridge of age


Young and old, bold and cold


Above the waters of death


Reaching only halfway to the empty class


Climbs a ladder with no roof to land on


Drained, carries the mind away


Mindful to the labor


Sweating sorrow on the land strange


No ariel to sing the sweet song of wakefulness


And here on your side you nurture dreams


And carve reality into ethos of proverbial glorification


 


For glory is meant not to be articulated, but made


Dreams are not meant to be dreamt but surely shaped.


 


                                                                                                                      


                                                                                                    


                                                                                   


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

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