living my life as many different versions of my self,
Every version poses a different personality,
Different manners and movements
Even the faces are slightly different.
One of me is so energetic, very outgoing and funny
One of me a true introvert,
You might say we are different with different people,
We are also different with same people on different days,
Different with ourselves when we are alone on different days.
Sometimes the other versions of me are not even aware of
the agony that the other version of me is going through,
Although they wonder what’s wrong,
Everything looks right, I feel fine,
Then why things somehow seem to be shaking, falling?
Secretly a version of me falling apart,
Trapped inside a tragic plot.
Every version has a different story at it’s core,
With smaller subplots from the other versions of me.
It’s as if I am not the protagonist in my life’s book,
I am the book.
The many characters of that book, versions of me,
Interacting with the many versions of you,
And everyone that touches my life.
Life a mesh of intermingled books,
That are writing themselves and each other.
Maybe I am not even the book ,
Maybe I am the process of it being written,
Maybe I am all of it.
The writer and the process of writing,
The characters and the book,
It’s reader and it’s critic.
© Copyright 2019, Niharika Jaiswal