Prose Poetry

Deja vu?

Colours appear like crayons on an old stationery box. They look different, yet smell familiar… A smell that captures the attention of a memory strand taking me all the way back to childhood.

“Aren’t these too many pieces to be a mere puzzle?”, I ask myself.

A turn I take, a move I make; it all seems connected. It seems as if my every move is predestined and I can feel it… lucid, like the bottom of a crystal clear stream. So clear that at times I just know when to say “Hi” and when not to… I have become both the predictor and the person.

“Was that the yesterday that is to happen tomorrow?” is my confused query. The study of self is forbidden. One can only study another. But what if nature makes you move that way… like a wave takes debris with it?

In this cyclone of existence I stand, impatient and in want of faster answers.

I too want to replace my “Deja vu?” with “Amen.”

By ishansavio

Analytics Consultant, Musician, Photographer, Personal Blogger

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