not fully expecting the horror
of my changed self.
Why? Am I afraid of myself,
the uncertain reflections and erratic oscillations of thought within my eyes?
Or is it because behind the obsequious mirror lies an unsuspecting disguise?
The horizon clandestinely follows me
where I least expects it to be,
the bellow of last hope from the watchman of innocence
shatters the diaphanous grip of my stream of consciousness.
Towards immobility, I see!
The quizzical looks of life's ambiguity shall I not heed;
whereas hindsight and altruism flee
from the inconceivable dimensions of life, eternity, and death,
truth is all but a self-aggrandizement, whence,
within a blink or two,
I forgot to whom had I been saluting these past five years in a manner resembling a fool.
Time flies,
the spring of youthfulness blossoms
into fantastic aspirations without boredom.
Life is a grand stage
that often bursts in a vivacious rage;
inspiring doth it seems,
happiness and disappointment from it we redeem.
Now, as the mirror of self-reflection breaks,
and memories from our collective past leaks,
a conflagration of self-denial overcomes.
I gave my last breath,
and without expecting him to accept the meaning of my grievances, I stretched my tongue.
So it is all coming to an end,
and without ceremony our memories bend.
The end marks the beginning,
the immaculate process of refining
our delicate and fragile lives.
« return.