...there is no full-stop after farewell;

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

when i transcended, perched on the tips of flames, swinging my legs,
surrealism changed to ethereality.
and reality renewed into lies coated with a syrup of tattered and shredded dry flowers.

no. no, they did not throw me into the waste-paper bin because
that's not pretty, is it?
instead, i was put into the heap of old newspapers-
because those yellowed prints always return,
enclosing deep-fried fritters in hasty paper-bags
with the tamarind sauce smothering the little skin i have left.

no. no, none of this is reality.
the only thing real is the white ceiling that i am staring blankly at,
with screeches of bikes and barks of street dogs painted smoothly on it.
i can see all the painted lies.
after a while, reality comes down to only the ceiling fan glaring at me from its state of vertigo.

no. no, don't make me believe otherwise.
you too, are a living lie speaking harsh truths;
and they are all staring at me
as if i am some consuming addiction,
all the furrowed brows hiding smiles,
and all the smiles hiding furrows.

this is not reality, this isn't.
this is merely a shame of the dust of renewal.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

❝ Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air. ❞

~ Sylvia Plath
{ Lady Lazarus }

the above art piece has been created by _flying_high_ , to complement the poem. if you like the drawing, please go ahead and show some love and support to the artist behind the shades and hues.