The Mirage

The river Life is nothing but a glib tunnel, Except for the dazzling water, it is just a disastrous canal. Except for any untamed misery, It would only be an adversary. Except for an acute pied piper, This river would be an unalike well-giver. The fragile memories spring up in the corridor, In which nobody can hope for the undisclosed Advisor. It is just a storehouse of harassment, The well-giver is just a warped embodiment. To bid in the farewell is only a colossal audacity, To sacrifice your psyche is nothing but a callous mendacity. The perpetual night is the name of an idiot, Nothing can last for an everlasting period, Nobody can live long without their deeds, In the end, I want to confront my haughty demeanour and its mistreatments. This river is only a four-digit number, It does not wait for any illusory diver. It does not cost more than a voyage, It is no more than a mirage.