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Apr 2018
Start with a fresh idea.
It appears crystal clear and lucid,
the fringes stretching and fabricating on their own.
It looks good, so far.

I put my pen down to write.
A diabolic blot of ink drops.
A white haze infuses itself and now it has all become murky,
no longer as apparent.
Almost as if a frosted glass screen has descended, blocking my horizon.

I HAVE to shatter the glass. I stand beside the pile of hammers.
I HAVE to pick one.

A battle to fight, every day. Every day… every day…
every day, a fink.
Deepa Ravi
Written by
Deepa Ravi  23/F/India
(23/F/India)   
223
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