EACH MORNING

 always
in transition.
always
waiting
for something
to happen.
a withering
or
a blossoming.
Whatever.
deep blue skies,
unknown directions,
pathless goals.
and distances
with no horizons.
so many selves;
all my own.
dancing dismally
in the myriad
mirrors.
each morning.

 ~Riya~

More Poems By Riya

Kavitanjali

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