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The Clown

"At times I wonder, if I'm behind that colorful mask that I wear. Perhaps, I don't have a face. It's just a procession of hundred eyes trying to see inside me.... where I'd stopped existing a long time back. But if you smile you'll probably find me in one corner of your eyes."


MY OTHER BLOGS

Bias: An Introduction

A repetition of dreams. Uncircled thoughts. Unselected. Roamed about on her stage. The drama followed her instincts. A bunch of drowsy audiences. Invited by their fears of unrestrained light. An infection to their eye. Their only eye. Left. The other been washed away in their points of view. Bias.

The play continued, long after their only eye went to rest. The part they didn't see was compensated for, in their dreams. Dreams that were repetition of each other. And therefore, alike.

Her acting was instincts. Missing. Next morning, from their interpretations. And interpretations said her play had a plot and a logical conclusion.

They never knew that the play went on forever. An infection that spread over to their lives.

Instinct had become their only eye.

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