The Mob

Sometimes out of the blue

I feel afraid

And vulnerable.

As if I am going to be soon

Attacked by a mob,

Which is searching for me badly

In the grasses and ferns.

And they are crying

At the top of their lungs

A slogan whose substance

Is, that I must be killed.

Is something wrong with me?

Or is it with the world?

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About Zeeshan

We are the twinkle in the eyes of oblivion.

2 comments

  1. Lovely poem! Evokes a subtle sense of unease.

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