On Melancholy

O 'melancholy, your hectic chill for human's soul, 
You with your dismal presence, any spirit does descent; 
unto dreams of tranquil, restful, 
moist, and sometimes of direful views they went.
Enigmatic woven waves are your curls, 
You traverse in each mystery we bent; 
where life is few configured amid wild whirls; 
Until deaths, mild eyes meet us in an airy haunt. 

Nithin purple

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