The shallow seeks the depth,
when it realises the disappointment in depth.
Tired of its own superficiality,
it now desires prosperity.
Narratives of no Greek God,
tales of no fairy anymore.
Catastrophe of realism without the doom.
Finiteness of infinite bliss hailing the sorrow;
the shallow had ever felt in times.
It was traumatised in those loops of epochs.
The chronicles never did ended,
they went all along.
The shallow heard the finite porkies; nomore.
-Emanuel Hoque
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