“I stand on the other side of the fringe, and alas, people look from the other side”

We see the walls and bricks of the buildings
Not the stories of the people.
We see the streets, trams and cars
Not the histories of the people.

The trees are beautiful, all browns and greens
We seldom think of the complexity
That runs through their veins.

The world is beautiful, deserts, rivers and ice
We acclaim its perfection and celebrate its exquisiteness
But ignore the temperatures and pressures it bears within in a trice.

The songs are beautiful, we criticize the composition
Or the lack thereof, but no one knows
The life the artist went through and his many a dimension.

Stories are beautiful, but we‘re curious
About the gossips and rumours
The emotions get obscured by this prejudice.

They want you to be like them, or to say
Like they want you to be.
You are laden with layers of lies and deception
That reflect the world and its view of you.

You build a fictional universe around you
That is created by them, to be laughed upon
And entertain them, you’re a
Great cover designed with utmost care and analysis.

Even you start believing the universe in which
Every page of the story is finely tuned to the perfection
Your soul is no longer your’s and is obscured
By the layers of so vivid and rich fabrication.

You lose yourself and finally, act as one of them
The way the world wanted you to be
Where you no longer are you, the way you like
But a fragmentation of their imagination.

I try to be not like that
Not succumb to the imagination of their’s.
Like a li’l child with a magic wand, wishing to create her own world
I strive to be myself, building my world, with my own views.

This world of mine is different from the world of their’s
A fringe separating ’em both
I stand on the other side of the fringe
And alas, people look from the other side.

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