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My religion has a blurred visage,

Can only be felt,

It is harbored,

Unrepressed,

 

I risk running over the idyllic religion,

That’s too wanting,

Too difficult,

I will leave it untested

 

My mind,

Stands on its infallible ground

Has the highest aptitude,

Of weaving its own skewed view

 

Can weave this moment,

Heaven in hell,

Or hell in heaven

 

Speaking in unrefined natural language,

It stands strong like the tree of wisdom,

Roots sunk deep into the infinity,

Glossed over goodness and evil

 

How excruciating it can be?

Shunning that inner voice

The voice of the heart,

That defines true self,

Secret to all powers,

Just to appease the unappeasable?

 

 

 

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