Recycled Glory

genes rejig
expressions
-of beauty 
already touched
-songs already sung
-colors splashed
on the sky 
aeons ago


nothing’s original
except the magician
who creates illusions
of uniqueness,
authenticity,
immortalises 
delicate butterflies,
breeds vanity of the swan


I feel insecure
tipped on points
moving on circles
whose toes am I stepping on?
whose life am I reliving?
not knowing
It’s all been done before
recycled hallucinations

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