The noise of traffic dangling harshly upon my ears, Bolstered by gentle fumes bringing frenzy to my nostrils,
And carried aloft with the choruses of mongrels from the rubbish bins,
So long since our last encounter, now all muffled as memories.
It was the month of March when the complete mayhem broke out,
Caresses have longed for apart from outdoor detachment and society division,
Awakening the recluse inside the weary wanderers throughout,
The melancholic breeze singing lullaby for those of condition.
Journeying on the gypsy road, seemingly always humps and bumps,
Caught a glimpse of silver lining peeking through the great wall of trouble,
Learning, adapting, and building a new world amid being in the slump,
Reimagining the future beyond the state of being vulnerable.
Literature has transformed into a dazzling sword,
Or shall I say, a comforting place for the bereaved?
A bridge for division and digital discord.
The answer is all, as it contributes to the healing of those who bleed.
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