Not The Real Reflections

Magical it feels, to look here and there, everywhere

Feels transparent, the events that unfold… but rarely so

As if something is missing; a part of life in oblivion

The night may feel like day and days filled with darkness

Early celebrations at those events rarely continue

Perceptions and desires of inherent emptiness

Moments decline the ultimate kind of euphoria

Thoughts of unfulfilled dreams last till the last breath

So many nights keep awake the stirred soul

Reflections become indistinct, and characters disappear

Only a few unknown voices can be heard

Not that the world is absorbed in the type of existence


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