You, gyroscope

When your axis tilts,
and oceans flit
to the parched parts of your globe
and your night sky

and you don’t know when
you will pen
anything ever again.

As you familiarise
with your new world
and what has driven you in your past
irrelevances itself.
This rebirth feels more like a short death,

but that little voice tells you
sometimes death
isn’t a void
but the closing of one.

The nothingness, which
was always there, goes
and leaves you what?

Room for construction
of fables, turning you
into a mythologiser
of imagined pasts.


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