as the dawn
proceeds to the dusk,
a thousand images
of this beautiful world,
rotate and change,
sublime visions,
evaporate,
my capillaries,
and adrenaline
burst straight up
like a heroin abuser
drowning in a pool of dreams.
for I have been summoned
to peek in this kaleidoscope,
we sometimes call life,
and I just stare.
the mirrors would shatter soon,
the music will slither in,
it would be dark and damp.
Just as I dreamt once.
that night.
Just once let the reflections
in the mirror
live and speak
curse and cry
laugh and go complete mad
for I am sure
they are dying to do so
since we started hiding
from ourselves
long ago.
Every time I see the mirror,
I see a contrast of images,
I sometimes see,
a kid wandering in the world,
lost in thoughts,
willing to paint the world,
in canvas of words.
And sometimes,
a writer struggling for words,
to paint the world,
in canvas of never seen words,
But the glass,
is a deceiving perception,
it makes us see,
Either
What we don’t have,
or what we need,
never it shows,
the real me.
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Writings to Heaven 