the spirits dwelling within made small talk

like the skin tightening, relaxing

as another mirror reflects back

having similar interplay of relaxation

then stress, when words fall on damp soil

unable to grow.

my life is better than yours

does not sound quite kosher,

morphs to it is the simple things

in life that brings us joy.

the mirror face relaxes, the spirits within

make big talks on who was best

and vanity no longer wonders who is the

most beautiful

when it is quite evident that the desert

is able to spring out cactus green

with water alive, turgid stems wanting to burst

to rain down a cool draft

the mind plots, wanders, congratulates

itself when heart is made at peace

with narratives told by the court jester

and a god sits on the throne looking a lot

like i am.

spirits wander past veils, into fogs

unable to find their way back

the mind scratches for truth

no longer apparent, still the face remains

pleasant, even though it is evidently puzzled

when mind, heart and soul no longer

seem congruent.

another story to be told

said the imp to the ear

while the mind gets lost into the fog,

spirits find their way back

then it becomes soon quite clear

why the outside is never quite

what it appears to be.