Hiding away, is the pretense of safety,
The tricky delusion of the Earth's vastness;
The denial of existence of coincidences,
Burying a head of memories in the sands.
The refusal of the obstinate faith,
Thats all things eventually come around,
Back to where it all started,
To touch base with the past, ground zero.
The axis is the arrow of the archer,
Pointing at bull's eye - my place in the world;
Piercing into the presence of the soul,
Opening the gates to unfamiliar reality.
Tight red lips turn pale from the silence,
As eyes watch the unfolding of destiny,
Picking the same characters for life's plays
Transcending differences of time and tide.
What went around, has come around,
Rearing its head proudly in victory;
Like Lucifer undressing for bed, it sheds
The dust of travel to reveal its face -
A ghost from the other side of the world,
With knowledge that bridge the troubled waters,
Seamlessly aligning the past with the present,
Compressing the earth into a grain.
So fine, it could get blown away ,
By the first wisp of wind's whispers;
So small, all its subjects interlinked and merged,
Wiping away traces of mystery, between the lines.
It is a small world, after all,
At the end of the horizon there's a meeting point,
The dead and alive, the new and old,
The past and present, migrate to mingle in merriment.
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