Patterns are patterns
whether they are for resistance
or for acceptance
for love or for everything else
Some times, I am an island,
all my sides covered with
glorious self absorption or
thinly spread contempt
for the others
I am also a light tower
relentlessly beaming light
into distant sea
while it is dark near by
in the hope of greater good
Many a days I am a dejavu
repeating the days and times
and echoing the patterns of the past
and realising only after the repetition
I am on some days,
the green box in the attic
With the books and smells and scents
of distant past, preserved for
eternity
I am a remote on some days
with buttons displayed
for anger, sadness and
stand - by suspended
There are days when I am
the stream that flows taking
floatsam along with
scores of living - thriving creatures
Many days I am woman
who feels all the above and
wonders whether this is dejavu!
