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Rare


They called people like us rare, They branded that we don't care. But in truth we care too much, But don't know how to handle this emotional crutch.

We forge our own ways, staggering, A long way from society's pathways, diverging... We scorn the sheep who pretend, That their meek following is something to commend.

We fall headfirst, while the sheep here, Bore themselves to death, succumbing to fear. It's hard for us to comprehend every evening, How the majority could fail to listen to their hearts' yearning.

How could you lead a life so devoid of meaning? What do you achieve by following the status quo which has no significance in this short life? What do you ultimately gain by loving nothing passionately? Doing nothing with a full heart? In a job that kills you? Watch this short precious life pass you by? Oh well, I'm a zombie too.

Srividya G. is a techie currently pursuing her masters in psychology. She is a dreamer and a poet with thousands of poems stashed away. She is also a philosopher who constantly changes her position in debate, and a major bookworm. She loves reading, writing, traveling, making new friends, and cooking.

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