It has been ages since I penned my thoughts
to lessen their strength, their might
by letting them embroil in deafening gossips,
and heart-wrenching monologues
Back then,
I used to let them fly as high as they could
to shoulder my intellect through their experiences,
It still makes me cry when I think of those nascent dreams
that recently, erected on the canvas of my life,
at the expense of the old ones—
those dreams that made me believe I can contribute
to the wide array of the world like my love—Einstein,
and can be a part of a group of weirdos,
where intelligence changes its form,
but still remains an invariable constant,
where weirdness is considered a pride
but none is interested to boast it off,
where heart is neither ruled nor enslaved,
but parallels the vitality of brain,
where love craves for a soulful heart,
but heart is in pursuit of another Eureka
When I look back,
and try to figure out the Theory of Relativity,
I get nothing except how its spells,
I try to solve simple mathematical questions,
but quadratic equations mock me and block my way,
I test my IQ and it turns out to be nothing—
a simple oblique blank,
I re-attempt with an anticipation that,
I might rock on this time,
but Mensa slams a straight, rigid exclamation mark
and still I let my heart crave for those dreams,
that I never owned, nor ever clutched,
but kept them for a long time
till intellect met with an acute consummation,
and found reasons to feel pride,

It’s time to let intellect get a hold of age-old dreams,
hastened with greed,
my heart still peers at them,
to find their loopholes and point out their slips,
in the hope of claiming its copyright.

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