written by: Sneha Subramanian Kanta
the dark purple toned night
distilled into black while a
castaway star leaped over
to fall over the earth’s crust.
human beings, they notice
nothing except that nothing
that is made up to be their life.
there was fire before morning
randomness became deep yellow
and no one remembered the
fallen star. the star had stationed
on a moss bed; into arrays of
dust figments, that shone in the
noonday sun while the streets
were empty. there was reality
that was a dream, the dream
pipes of music played every
night; while everybody fell asleep.
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