Each cobweb defaces
the fluidity of time.
Capturing the fragments
of forgotten dreams.
In the dark silence, echoes remain,
A suppressed voice message,
Left on the edge of memory,
The sharp pang of what could’ve been.
In the ethos, waver the Advait,
Between reality and the soul’s mirror.
Awake! Arise!
The present beckons,
Like a flame in the morrow.
Pecked to perfection,
By the bird of time’s design.
Approbation to the fragments,
That shapes our hidden lines.
In the reflection of the truth,
Every mask begins to crack and fall.
Life is a great reflector,
Bouncing back the honest judgment.
And in its stark light,
We find our truest stand.
Somdatta Mitra
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