// Poetic malady //
Life is a poetic malady
Presumed to be a
never ending theatrical tale,
We eagerly buy
the front row tickets
bringing people
with us for company
Most of whom
disappear after interval.
The grand acts of success
are played out in public,
Mourning of heartbreaks
usually a private affair;
Eyes drift outside the window
as the acts get weary
And we daydream of walking
across the boulevard of everything
we thought was meant to be.
Life does hit the reboot button
Some well reasoned and
Some downright arbitrary,
As we are stuck on to the
same cosy chair,
Everything changes -
the people, the lighting
and the background scenery.
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