Blurred

Smoke fills the air. I try to sift through the images that appear in and out of the haze, unsure of which image deserves more focus than the rest. My view is further obscured by some strange wrangles in my mind — a chaotic clash of perceptions.  The clarity of my vision is compromised. Discerning reality from illusion becomes an arduous exercise.

Inevitably, a quandary comes to the fore: Do I perceive the images as parts of an intricate whole? Or should I take each image— vague as some may seem — as a significant whole itself?

I parry the idea of brushing aside the situation as if it were not something that would require fixing. The predicament is not necessarily a matter of life or death, but it certainly does not lack the elements of a dilemma that may spell the difference between getting my wits intact or losing my sensibilities —which, in turn, may endanger my way of life.

Like a forlorn garden that waits for the kiss of rain and the touch of sunlight for it to thrive, I await a denouement.

Meanwhile, as the images continue to hover aimlessly, I tiptoe on the edge of my house of cards that is on the verge of collapse.

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