Manisha Shrestha

There it is again -
the mirror, staring at my void.
I look, and look away.

Boxes strewn into a chaos,
or maybe, they are petals flying towards a land?
Which land does it fly to -
the breeze?

There are strands sometimes –
all tied up together.
Could I free them?
who am I, again?

A leap; many ripples.
Another surface torn through;
then another, and another
and then, the abyss -
under water.

Would I sink in it?
Why is it terrifying, still?

It is night already.
The ocean over me, calls me over
to give it company among the glimmering ripples
flowing from an eternity to an eternity, waving in and out of amnesia

I had been lying there since a little before the sunset
with the back of my t-shirt soaking in all the dew
and my hair wet in mud,

Rowing, rowing, rowing
through silence, through noise,
through the abyss, through seas,
through the sky, through mirrors,
through a universe, through void


How different are they?
The mirror, the sea, the abyss,
the sky, I?

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