A Dark Lighthouse

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Spectra of sharp lights from dark lighthouse,

Brightens everything up front of my eyes.

The light that pumps courage,

Plants uncertain hope to a spinning destiny,

Seems to me a bright black hole.

Enlightened foots rooted in the ground,

Shackled by educated myths.

My tiny foots stroll on the uneven turf,

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And hit countless solid unseen darts,

I see it clearly,

A few shadows plucking,

countless nostrils of the brown foggy lights.

But I don’t see my own hoof,

spinning around in an untouchable circle.

In the lighthouse,

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a few couples of bright sights,

staring at my every motion with a vive,

that produces a fear of Panopticon.

But those figures are strangely invisible.

It resists my thoughts ideologically,

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That I can hardly push the boundary,

beyond the structured barrier.

The only exit is on the high ceiling,

Sealed with a thick scratchy glass,

Covered by the Shroud of Turin.

By

Kamruzzaman Saif

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