He rises in a shoal
To play watery game
Other games do not enter
Into his histrionic head
But if water
Goes to an end
Where it would play
His lovely game
In his imagination
He caught in between two horns
He would about to die
Very Sensitive is the situation
He needs a drop of wind
A point of space
To play his watery game
But he is like a fish or a fish himself
Awkwardly placed
in front of thousand snakes
vipers, dangerous
strangulating
frightening threatening
within a wink of time
he is going to die
extremely nervous
he fights a war against
his own nerves
fear pricks him
like a thorn of cactus
the soft heart cut into pieces
heartlessly
cruelly dumb and surprisingly
the world is indifferent
he hopes he would survive
if he gets a drop of
rehabilitation, reconciliation
from the addiction of obsessive inclination
or a gust of wind
in the form of love and care
he would remain alive
to play his favourite watery game..
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