An incomplete poem, if you may, got distracted while writing this and eventually couldn’t end it well,, and like many of my other works, i was unable to find a suitable title for the poem.
My life flashes before my eyes,
Am I dreaming or is this real?
I know nothing of these flashes,
All I know, is that I stand.
I look down at the flying fish,
Moving like the magnetic lines,
I see flies engulfed in crimson blaze,
Hovering above the land, aimlessly.
I see patterns of strange sorts,
Spiraling designs in the crop field.
I see the smoke sucking away the colour,
Leaving the world in shades of grey.
As the white washes away somewhere,
The shades of grey dissolve into the absolute.,
And murkiness fills the silent infinite.
Is there any life left, I wonder?
Is there any despair, I think?
Is this the world I lived in?
Does the flying fish still fly?
Do the flies still hover aimlessly?
Does the pattern still seem strange?
Will the smoke start giving back?
Is this the life that I lived, or
The dream that I conceived?
Will I see the flash again?
Or will I remain here, stranded?
Will I need to close my eyes again,
Or are they better left open?