What I anticipate, dread
Becomes my reality
Swallows my existence
Consumes my being

My own mind conjuring tricks
Telling me stories
Creating what, if scenarios
Imparting credibility to surreality

In this plethora of phantasms
A new one builds up each minute
Augmenting my inventory
Of my make-believe world

Surrounded by a roomful of mirrors
Each one echoing my own thoughts
I find it difficult to choose
Impossible to discern

Which ones represent truth
Which ones are just figments
Which ones I can live with
Which ones I can discard

The tree bearing the flower of illusions
Lies unsteady
Being blown by the hurricane
Of my own fears and uncertainties

Subir Chakraborty / 14th Aug 2018