Dull Box

Short days are painted in known ways,
Short nights are familiar delights.
Sparkling words in the light and shade,
The lost wind seeks direction undismayed.
Swirls of dense clouds
Spinning round my face.
In the midst lies a shining star,
That I can trace.
Knowing am a flint,
Lying at some corner of a closed circumference,
I could see the rest of my life to glint.
The sun rises & sets.
The wind flows & goes.
My life retches,
As it stretches.
Failures flecked my life,
I feel like cutting it short with a knife.
I lapsed quite in an inactive state,
When I realised that I am a dull box,
That too, obsolete.
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