Deja vu

Is it deja vu,
Sickly re-run of a mediocre play
Or anomaly of memory
Confronting yet another routine day?
A delusion of mortal being
Recollection of the daily seen
Is repetition a cosmic deja vu
Like God’s dream of me recurring for years
Who perhaps mocks at our sick souls
Glued to purpose of dreams and nightmares.
We live in fret, amidst pretense of hope
And fragments that hustles set forth
Yet conjure up all banal truths
To call it a life worth-living.



One response to “Deja vu”

  1. Repetitiveness of munden reality haunts the poet. Unless mankind discovers new dimensions of sublime, this repetitiveness will keep haunting it. And question will remain : It is a deja vu that “conjure up all banal truths” ?

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