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Did Forsyth’s eloquence bloom the writer’s bud?

Did Merlyn’s smile hide her tears behind?

Did the Genius crack the shackles of life?

No, no, no I don’t think so…

We still don’t know what is life, and what is death.

We still don’t know whether living is real or death is a myth.

In life, there is both sorrow and laughter entwined together,

A sorrowful eyes may have a smiling heart,

And a smiling face might have the scars of sorrow carved into their heart,

Nothing can be judged or assessed,

Each is unique and passions are different,

Shakespeare might have learnt the rhetoric to be a genius,

Keats might have contemplated on a Grecian urn,

Stern people might have ruled the world,

Poets might have seen truth and beauty in commonplace things,

Whatever it may be for each one of us life is a maze,

It is a labyrinth with impasse and deadlocks,

we are caught and caught forever,

Not knowing to differentiate between truth and untruth,

Between truth and beauty…

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