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Echo Chamber


Echo Chamber


You hear it ever nearer–

coming towards you,

or leaving you behind.

Is it ever closer,

or just a frail chase.

The point gets lost,

in the lines of sketch.

The end meets the beginning.


Artistry is a tapestry,

of those unable to speak.

Of those who only seeks.

Of those who only mimicks,

the tapestry of artistry.

The message gets lost in the whirl.

But then those come who spin together.

Trying to feel the wind,

how it intertwines the hair with the skin.

How it takes a motionless object-

to a subjective being.

The message wasn't lost.

It was found as the whirl.



- Mr. Ahmed

20.05.25

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