Of the rarest instincts
Springing forth in degrees
Secluded interim of power
Manifested with great prowess
Pursued I, this creativity
Christened as brain lotion
Purgent source: imagination
Speaking as of old times
In intrepid and lucid principles
A notion, all should portray
An introvert? consider me not
Oh! i pity them lovelorns
Indeed ye are not luckless
So, stoop so lowly while
Engulfed in a sedative brain-lotion
When there's nothing to live for
Find something to die for.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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