By Yuvan Deb
A spectre so strange, I viewed within the mirror
Staring at me with hollowed eyes.
Pleading for a name it was;
Wretched was his soul,
For he had no identity with him to reside.
I asked who he was, phantasm blooming in his stare.
Thoughts, poems or graves was he made of?
Or the figure I saw, so sullen with cries.
I saw scars so deep crawling through his body;
In the intricate city woven from shattered memories
His soul, a ghost wandering through the alleys
Searching for a place to find peace.
Torn was his image of self,
With a past so rotten, so stale.
"Will I ever find the lost,
And retrieve the self so dense,
O' boy?"
He asked me with a voice,
Trembling in the echoes of silence.
By Yuvan Deb
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