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IllusionBy Richa Gupta QuailBellMagazine.com A world of swimming seas, mirror images of turquoise overlapping into an ocean of deception. Petals folding into themselves, concealing the fruit from rays of sin and light. Wielding an umbrella when there's never any rain, when the ground is as arid as the inside of her mouth. Plastic origami conflates the stars into a single entity, the throbbing heart of the universe. Making the clouds swirl in marshmallows, glinting the light of a weak, soft morning. A whirlwind upsets the calmness of the lagoon, the mirrors and shards of blue. But there is no whirlwind. It is prettier to see concentric swirls dominate the monotony of an uneventful lake, to see patterns etching themselves into a motif of beauty. Pale, uncertain beauty. Preventing her from seeing her true reflection--only a warped version of youthful smiles. The lens of our eyes is cruel; creating a new one makes the world fold into itself, brightens the hues to glitter and dust, reality to a snide, mocking illusion. Transforms the truth to a sphere of lies, that sinks to the bottom, falling, falling to the base of the lagoon, underneath a current of fabricated beauty, an illusory world of darkness. CommentsComments are closed.
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