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Gagged my heart with a hundred lies,

With the truths near, yet held far,

Once a while they gush and meet,

For the, they collide, frolic, then recede.

The vines of the creeper dangling before me,

Are my words, feelings and desires unvoiced,

They hang there heavy and down,

Unable to join the prancing zephyr,

Yearns for that warm embrace to hold and grow,

Sees it atop a little brave efforts, and a leap of faith and rush,

So close yet to far to embrace and rejoice,

To get to the zenith of pleasure and space,

Just that step ahead into passion deep,

Yet this fear like a frost on the heart,

A confusion like wanderer's tenets,

This mystifying state of the sky above,

That promises the end, yet is so limitless,

Stuck in a quandary of love and the real,

Tearing up in the dilemma of fear and dear,

Unless that strong wind foretelling a storm,

The vine is not going up and with courage,

That too, lest the storm does not,

Make my entire labyrinthine creeper fall,

The admiration and devotion to a familiar unknown yore,

Keeps the creeper growing, throbbing more, laughably,

Unwisely knowing all the words wise,

Living with those quiet conversations with the breath,

Whose scent travels far, but to where words yet to go,

Burrowing the echoes within itself,

Fading away before it turns into an assail of passion,

Meekly crowning from afar, the creeper, is happy,

Happy, in love, in this love.

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