She posed and posted, Drifted away from real life. She lived her life only virtually, Far far away from deafening cries. Fabricated truth, fake applause, She counted, collected too many. Victim in her own fiction, Beyond reasons any. She posed in front of Gulmohar tree, But never bothered for a touch. Never cared to bask in its shadow, Her life was in a maddening rush. It ended one day, Virtual smiles, hugs lost its meaning. She sat under that Gulmohar tree, Drowned in her own screaming. She rubbed her wet eyes, Frisked through the piled debris. It gave her joys in between, But couldn't find who was she? Escape, she might, Never bury herself in it. Never again to be a victim, Of the facade she built. No shape so true, no truth so false. She never hid herself again behind virtual walls. *Image Source - Google