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(A dream)

Life - that other word
I know; it is but
A little prelude,
A dream,
An only truth, among many others,
And, like them, it has been lost;
The future holds a million thoughts
I have no reason to believe,

The past, too, that unknown, that fall from grace,
The room, that great star, that hollow feeling of eternity,
Those hollows…
I am the master of nothing,
Nor a master,
I have been hollow,
Or a plain man,
A virtuous man of iron,

I am in chains
In no meaningful relation to my eyes,
Or with meaning,
I have spelt this word with no alphabet,
Nor used paint on stone, wood or etching,

I have been amused at the horrors of life,
And the brave and the minor and the moon and the stars,
I have had no reason to believe or deny any word written, spoken,
Or those that are unspoken,

And while I believe in nothing,
I still consider myself, above all…
A hope, nothing more,
For a strange work to be written about the future,

With this I depart. I have spoken.

Once again, it was silent.

Mumbai, 2022

Ritwik Chaudhary is a writer and an actor. His writing has been published in RIC Journal and Unlikely Stories Mark V, among other journals. Literature to him is but a form of reasoning, albeit one where all other reasons have ceased to exist. 



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