They All Stared

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And thus began the day, bright and gay
She stood at the door
Made of rotten wood
With a veil over her head
She saw a naked world–
A chasm filled with dread
Even though she knew, beyond her silly gait
A world of flight
Oh! Ever so might…
But she had to roam
With a rusty cloth dabbed
Covering her filtered head
To fill the pitcher full
Of water to quench their thirst
And with a dirty veil–to not meet their preying faces
And prying pondering shades
Hide away! She said to herself
They do mind your flight
The gazing stars will fall
And the crashing sight
The head in a dirty veil
As the whole village gaped
Appalled.
They all stared

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Dipatches from Living

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What do you know about living–
The man who died a thousand suns ago
The dancing and the grinning
The lights of the dreamy, dreary shows
The illusions in the darkness,
The light within the foes
What do you know of living–
The dead man from ages ago
Smiling and jeering
Coughing and sneering
The drinks and the drugs
Drinking the wine of shadows
Eating the fruit of deceit
The lustful faces of ghosts
The greedy turfs of the libels
The man who knew of living–
Yes, he died long ago

Microcosm of a Mirage of being Mesmerized.

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What is a mirror image? What is it? We all know the answer. But we don’t.

In this microcosm–we are a part of a mirage–of being spellbound, mesmerized. We don’t quite know it, but only because the illusion engulfs us.

But why are we mesmerized in the first place? Because we choose that over reality. Because we are in fact just scared of the truth. And the truth is–that no matter who is there by your side, how many people, pets and friends or lovers–we are alone.

Alone as the space. Empty as the space.

But where did this mirage come from–why is it there? The reason being the fact that we choose being spellbound over reality–the mirage is nothing more than a smoke screen. if the mirage wasn’t there–we’d know the truth. The truth will snap at us.

Truth. What a horrifying word.

Reality. What an abhorrent word.

but these two go hand in hand.

Truth is that this macrocosm will end one day–ending with it the microcosm we are a part of. But we suppress this fact. We linger in hope for continuity. We ignore it.

But our life is a sham.

It is a prose that no one understands–poetry that everyone rejects. Of course there is music in the background–we move to it. But that music is a mirage too.

How do we cater to all this? How do we take it all in, in one go?

We don’t because we cant because we choose not to.

The happy faces–the mesmerized state is but a mirage. You learn that life is a beautiful tragedy. You lean on people who are nothing but a wisp of smoke.

Love–hate. Smile–tears. Happy–sad. Easy–hard.

These are just states. In a transition. Life–death.

You are enough, yet you fall short of yourself.

But we happily linger because we are confused of everything–but we linger in our microcosm which is a mirage of being mesmerized. Because that is what our instinct tells us to do.

We never find out about this microcosm of a mirage of being mesmerized. We don’t dig the layers because it will reveal to us the truth.

Truth. What a pitiable illusion about reality.

Reality. What a curse.