I wake up from a restless dream
I catch the thin web of attachment,
The xerox copy of my faith
Has been torn by you.
My mirror is not me
If you are my mirror.
Your gaze is a fearful symmetry
That makes me a mound
And not an everlasting statue.
The war guns don’t fire bullets of life.
The fear in death
Is not magnified anywhere,
Like it does in a war.
Fearing life, and
Fearing death
Costs too much of peace.
A forgotten tale is a lost game.
Future of survival
Has become a lost present.
A mirror has become a best war victim
Because it does not heal
Until you do.
.
Copyright Sushant Thapa
Biratnagar-13, Nepal
Picture Nick Victor