Bewitched by the charm of haze,
I walk through the minutiae of a maze;
My eyes flutter in confusion,
The bizzare thoughts bring on.
The mist of my own mystery clears up;
The enigma of emptiness steals control.

Actions become drunken slaves of Purpose;
Sensibility fails to wipe the ruckus
Off my mind.
Strange it is, stranger it becomes;
Darkness goes deeper than black,
I rejoice in the colours that I lack.
I wish this moment never fades,
I hope I never see the lights again.

Image taken from Pinterest


What I am and what I present,

My name comes in between;

That is where the tragedy begins.



The face tells a beautiful story,
A fantastical lie
That reflections care to ignore.
Fairytales decompose into cheap articles
On trampled newspapers.
Society screams, people shout,
The mirror stands tall,
Notices the unnoticeable,
Predicts the unpredictable,
Surmises hidden predicaments
And chooses to put a check
On reflections,
Only for those
Who are blinded by the sins
Of their deed,
The craving of their famished souls.
Some choose to see
The enthralling beauty
And set aside the rasping truth.
The rest become the mirror themselves
With their faces made of glass
And silver coating on their hearts,
To make sure that
The reflections never reach them.

This is a still from a short film.