Dead facts in living fiction
Stories are imaginations from facts,
facts derived from stories.
The link never dies.
Form of life lies
in facts and fictions
through croaking words,
memories travel like a nomad
on the lost-and-found stage,
the dais collapses in the oceans of habits,
more of same habits
and surfaces again
with a hope to be written down
and trapped afresh, as if new, in the books
whose pages flutter like a calendar,
the sole object that the ceiling fan
excites in a gloomy room.
In the midst of modern living
imagination is also hijacked,
dark circles prevail around
every pair of eyes
that sees like a mastered horse,
disillusioned by the sounds of gallops
as free will.
This continues in the pool of life
where the imaginative animal
dies like a frog.
Facts and fictions keep on
insisting, arguing, back-chatting
whether the frog is actually a toad
and if it is really dead or living.