The guilt gnaws at the conscience,
tearing non-societal thoughts.
It creeps in slow, then poisons –
its notorious ink blots.
The mind is a restless leaf
that flutters as the wind blows.
It sails tho the journey brief
since we anchor when it flows.
To trail beliefs is no grit,
nor the path that others writ.
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About Rahul Aithal

I am from Mumbai, India. Composing poems gives me immense pleasure. Few poetic sites I write on are -,, and, recently Avant-Garde-Writer's Haven (on Facebook). You could browse my other writes on my private blog, I am glad to have joined this site, thanks to Louis. I hope to add value and get the group going.

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