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The biggest lie that they told,
having stood tall and proud in the sun
for the longest time,
flaunting its bold, synthetic colors
and tastefully disguised malice
now cowered under the darkening sky.
I saw the first rain of the season
picking at its skin like drops of acid.
It must have felt pain,
but it dared not cry out
as a puddle of faded, empty glory
formed at its feet.
The purity of the water
made short work of its clothes.
Everything wore off, all the patterns
bled out into a wash of confusion,
of chaos, before dissipating
completely into less than nothing:
a waste of time,
a waste of space.
A length of pavement
on which the offended faith
must now find its way back.
The carefully misused little truths,
the half-truths and omissions,
the tricks and misdirection,
and, at the core,
the blatant untruths,
came undone in layers,
soaking up dirt and turning into mud.
It would have stained anyone,
had anyone been standing nearby.
But there was no one now.
It stood alone,
naked and exposed
and ashamed.
Still, it betrayed no sign of anguish.
It was that kind of monster.
It was almost beautiful.
But I knew better.

“Reflections” by photographer Maja Topčagić


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