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The inner voice is no longer abstract. It has a persona and it lights up a cigarette, an interesting metaphor. Sunila verses about this ‘trusted friend’ in a fresh voice, for Different Truths.

My inner voice lit a cigarette

Smoke of which first seemed to suffocate

Nay it awakened my meek senses

Warned me to stay far from termites

That slowly nibble away valuable time

Each moment is registered as slice

Obnoxious airs surrounding neurons

Vacate vigour and leave VIBGYOR none

Life at last turns into a wasted junk

I give credit now to this trusted friend

Despite its nagging or vexing trend

Let the cigarette of inner voice

Burn and blow clouds to make the right choice.

©Sunila Khemchandani

Photos from the internet.

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