Post Truth

on Tuesday, 1 August 2017
My poem stays in the pages of the note book 
For years
As I am looking at my pale face in the mirror again and again
Moments jog pairing illustrious feelings with words
Book unfastens by the whirl of the wind
Few words take their own path leaving blank space in the sentence
Like cleaning the stained mirror
For having a better reflection of the virtual face
Unfinished poem shelved in the book
Virtual image breathing in the mirror
Mirror! Mirror!! on the wall….
Whose images are the most beautiful ones in the world?
Real image in the mirror says…
True images on the time line are caged words
Unless you wake up early morning
And say to the book it’s show time
Let the words in pages
Survive like breathing book lungs



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