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Writer's pictureMaya Krishnamurty

The Mirage



Behold, the mighty mirage keeping you at bay,

Never the same in the light of another day.

A sandstorm approaches, how do you get by?

Encircling you with no escape, however hard you try.

Unfazed by its might, you take a step ahead,

Only to stumble back, checked by the pull of a thread.

A mere puppet, so you seem to be

What lies ahead of you, Alas! you cannot see.


Steps taken forward, sleep walking back,

Things fade into oblivion, you seem to lose track.

You try to look ahead, fix a steady gaze,

Into that distant horizon, beyond the looming haze.

No sun in sight, no moon. No stars shooting past, and no clear sky,

The eternal clock ticks on, as time relentlessly passes you by.

The despair of a traveller lost along a weary way

Left overwrought as any semblance of hope fades away.

Bound by the chains of shackling thought,

You wish to be free from the incessant onslaught

Free from identity, that quest for meaning,

Free from that elusive sense of being.


You change direction, and the storm chases you,

You turn again, caught in a swirl of truth,

And when it ends, you are free from the struggle,

A different being, emerging from the rubble,

A dazzling ray, showing you the way,

To a world of peace, miles and miles away.

Clear shines the light of the sun,

Leading you on a journey long forgone,

The Mirage cast it's spell, and storm reawakens you,

Taking you along, into a deep ocean of blue.




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