It happens that I tend to feed and caress my own thinking horses.
O, I prefer to look at the world and its colour using my limited senses,
Afraid of getting deceived and trampled; created a partial shroud out of fear.
Never placed a hint of adoration in front of my well-wishers; Even I know they are so dear.

My miserable mind unknowingly stitches web for fencing the likely scoundrels,
I find it difficult now to look straight at their eyes as if am mid of some hapless mourners.
It clogs my heart and chokes my voice and I long to get a fresh source of air,
Am afraid as I got entangled in the cobweb stitched by my mind out of some strange fear.

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