Mutation

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The night was mild and beautiful,

and the air was crammed with love.

It was a scene of an idyllic beauty,

an ideal reminiscent of a Monet painting.

And overwhelmed by the aromas of

the silvery moon, as a candle beneath

the serene sky, so did I remain steady

in my deliberations on the transcendent mind.

Then suddenly blew the wind; pale, dark, lethal,

and blindfolded, in accord with its notion

of democracy – in the land of austere disparity

aloft the volcanoes of the conflicting ideologies.

Helpless was I, just as a grain of sand,

trampled by its own sweat on the desert of life.

As an apparition, I turned away from the world,

kissed those shriveled lips and drank myself to sleep.

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