The Fleeting Film

By Neeharika Mishra

In the avarice of today, 

The stretched circles 

Devour the sense of essence. 

Love here has relations and reasons 

Beyond that, it wears a costume 

And drags heavy feet like a stray. 

How can care be projected 

In a particular direction? 

I have truth and thoughts 

Freshly painted on the bench, 

I also have money and meadows 

To be counted on my thumb or toe. 

My sight has muted vision

So, I wear a pair of spectacles, 

But it flashes the later. 

I took it off my eyes, 

And completely muted my sight 

To see the inner world. 

I wander and wonder 

At every expression of worldly films. 

What is the difference between joy and bliss? 

That in the concrete cage 

I attend rock-loud concerts. 

But the blind key opens the lock, 

A secluded trail has no crowd. 

I chose the latter, 

My ear threw the coil of loudness, 

And my imagination became a pianist. 

The concert, a fleeting joy, 

The piano, a forever-driven bliss. 

I walked with a straight face 

Miles and miles and miles, 

And I found a narrow mirror. 

I have heard about the mirror 

It bounces back one’s expressions. 

I found one and stood in front, 

My hand up, then goes down 

The next moment has a new movement. 

I found no real time or present. 

The entire illusionary jar fell off 

The pieces shattered. 

I saw each piece had a story 

Of my past life and people. 

I clung to none 

They came and went. 

I stood still, nothing for everything, 

And the sky lost a part. 

Did the sky end? 

The cloud sobbed, drops fell, 

The sky turned lucid. 

The tree beside me, 

Gigantic, beautifully touched the sky, 

And the moon, like a crown, 

Had poems written on leaves. 

The leaves too fell in fall. 

My eyes gazed upon everything, 

And after every blink 

The sight changed. 

I knew, 

There is no journey at the end. 

Stop seeking, 

For life is a fleeting film. 

By Neeharika Mishra