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Can you hear the deafening din of a dead silence,
A compulsory solitude that stills the disquiet which life abound;
Grips the defused melancholy in abstraction,
Amid a thousand gleeful onlookers' crowd around?
Even the silence has things so many to say as such,
The stolid life gets all along nonstop drawn;
Endless solitude and seclusion the crowd proffers
Endless solitude and seclusion the crowd proffers
With the mind seeking a standstill escapade to live on.
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