By Vartika Hada
The other can't trace itself through ordinary ways
What has age got to do with things material
When it can barely balance on tightrope
Of its own creation.
Surrender yourself to suspense of life they say
Obfuscate your face, smooth out the words
Be happy in tragic ways.
They don't keep a record of ill-status
The marks on human nature working alone who cares about your lore and your dreams of prosper yond?
The demon's working has grounded us to atone.
Do surrender to whims of non-beings
Forget the enchantment of unknown
Be quiet as the underground mouse
Who waits for the beginning in an ouroboros.
Slow was the clock on his mantel,
Slow his workers,
Slow was the inner mechanism of this world
Who stays true to its inhibition.
What is dream but a delusion sparkling?
It appears nearer when it's really afar
In a second it turns into smoke
Or the work of a mighty man all along.