A wooden door with a crack
A visible crack that was mended
Mostly mended three years back
With a color that did not match
I knew it was not what it promised to be
A second knock, a longer one
I should wake up and see
Through the glass peephole
But it does not show things
In the same light, or size as they are
The peripheral vision gets compromised
If someone decides
To evade the blind zone
Sometimes knowingly
I would know there's something
But never with a proof
Of what it could be
A third knock on the door
An impatient and anxious knock
One that could harm the crack
Or would it harm the door?
I know now who it would be
I know now the business
That must be there
But I am the cursed Cassandra
I know the horse that is there
And one that blessed eyes could never see
I must not answer the door
I must not wake up
'Who's there?'
No. No...
'Yes, how may I help you?'
No. The horse is there staring at my soul
The crack smirked.
Once more.
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