Poetry

1. EVERYTIME MY HEART PALPITATED FOR EXISTENCE
Some relentlessly wiped the dust of it; just in order to relieve the unsurpassable
restlessness that irksomely leaked from each pore of their; frenetically trembling
fingers,
Some unceasingly wiped the dust of it; just in order to give each day of theirs a
meaningfully pragmatic start; judiciously adhering to every conceivable thumb rule of
cleanliness embossed in the scientific textbooks,
Some thoroughly wiped the dust of it; just in order to grant their otherwise haplessly
beleaguered demeanors; that supreme hilt of sparkling achievement,
Some intransigently wiped the dust of it; just in order to be that very first infallible
pioneering leaf; in the whole new chapter of bountifully civilized cleanliness,
Some fanatically wiped the dust of it; just in order to sight even the most infinitesimal
curve of their facial contours; in its now wholesomely brand-new transparently
scintillating glass,
Some painstakingly wiped the dust of it; just in order to keep even the faintest
shadows of their existence pollution free; inhale an air more purer than what could be
found in rhapsodically majestic paradise,
Some maniacally wiped the dust of it; just in order to wonderfully mollify their
everyday habitual rages of exonerating every speck of grime; to beyond the realms of
nothingness,
Some listlessly wiped the dust of it; just in order to expend their latently thwarted
energies into something alien; whilst profoundly concentrating upon the cherished
targets of their lives,
Some inexhaustibly wiped the dust of it; just in order to grant it the highest honor of
their otherwise impoverished lives; seeking refuge in its invincibly peaceful contours
—when the rapacious balderdash of the planet became too devilish to bear,
Some iteratively wiped the dust of it; just in order to tickle the otherwise robotically
estranged hair of their nostrils; with the unabashedly merry-making particles that
bellowed in a jiffy inside,
Some snobbishly wiped the dust of it; just in order to grant themselves a feeling of
fecklessly frigid superiority; that its destiny of whether to be clean or not; entirely
depended upon the swish of their nonchalant thumbs,

2. Some laboriously wiped the dust of it; just in order to holistically rejuvenate blood in
their otherwise haplessly paralyzed fingers; which had gotten so ruthlessly numb in
the freezing winter morning,
Some irately wiped the dust of it; just in order to get rid of their inexplicably
unwonted irritation; as they disgustingly snapped at every conceivable thing in vicinity
since the first crack of dawn,
Some unstoppably wiped the dust of it; just in order to ease those endlessly
painstakingly hours that lay inevitably in store; and that had to be conquered to taste
the fruits of blissful success,
Some lackadaisically wiped the dust of it; just in order to merely caress their
bewitchingly dreaming fingers; with a tiny ocean of glimmering pristine silk,
Some devoutly wiped the dust of it; just in order to regroup the miserably hackneyed
lines of their shattered destiny; in its myriad labyrinths of mystical sacredness,
Some despairingly wiped the dust of it; just in order to frantically search for those
stolen moments of happiness; which could be slyly lurking in the recesses of infinite
oblivion behind,
Some dedicatedly wiped the dust of it; just in order to timelessly worship the image
behind; from which eternally radiated every single pulse; every single color of their
impoverished lives,
Whilst I never ever cleaned it; neither did I ever see the frame in which it was kept;
yet immortally felt the photo of my God in its most royally unassailable form;
everytime my heart palpitated for existence; everytime my heart throbbed for
symbiotic life.