There’s a whiteness spread across the days
not of peace
but as if breathing has ceased
but I am not dead, yet.
The sky, although blue, seems barren
bereft of clouds
I am existing though
Passing through realities that feel like paintings
in that they don’t speak either
maybe they’re in meditation
Kilometres stretch out, merge into the vast expanse
Existence is a never ending ocean
The trees are dutiful, bowed down courteous
minding their own business
Lane after lane
is sanitised( of habitation?)
No one is shouting,no one is calling out, maybe they’re not even trying
or I am just passing by, oblivious
Is everyone just sleeping?
or am I in a dream?
a wet blanket of coldness  hangs
and it is all I can smell
Was affection of time a hallucination?
Where is the warmth of familiarity?
Where is what I detested now?
Where is the comfort of my known ones?
Where is Home?
Image: BBG Tilak


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