As the air hangs heavy with the burden of death
And the strings slip out of our hands
Once mighty, colossal egos,
Now slowly turning to sand.
Illusions of majesty lie shattered and strewn
Mirroring our mortal reality
Reminding us, each moment
Of our effortless disposability.
Neither the Royal nor the beggar
Is forever here to stay
Mere specks on the dance of time
It’s like the tables have turned in a day.
By Priya D’Silva
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