Imagine if the rain that drenched you to the bone left your neighbours dry. Imagine if the temple you built with wet and shaking hands made no one kneel at all, and you're the only one crouched on the floor whispering to the empty halls Will no one come at all? Imagine looking down in the waning moon. Imagine the stone  black and cool.. and plain and ugly in their eyes and yours the only ones upturned and waiting waiting for the light and imagine giving up to turn and think of going home to find the angel flown away. And black. And no one there and nowhere light. And no home left at all.


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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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