Is it me or the strings in a puppet play?

Which is making me work in their bay

The consciousness long famished,

Drunk on the eerily quiet desert — being lead

By the equally spine chilling voice conveyed

Nowadays, my entire being feels like a suspicion

Even the sight I see and the condition I perceive

Everything questioning me it's reality

It's authenticity and true meaning.

Are they happening or are they empowered to happen?

I keep on asking me that often

I feel restless to know the truth;

Truth — does it even exist?

Or am I forced to believe in that, as well?

Or does evil exist? So which side am I on?

Am I living my own life or am I just another pawn

To sample and test? To observe and note?

Am I seeing the blurred reflection on the languid river

Or the crystal clear reflection on the unfazing, still river

Is the thriving world I am seeing true?

It is it set up to plan a future of mine too

— Urja Ghosh
(BookLoverVenue)