The world sleeps on dead floor,

All closed but with multiplying identities,

A pause — on the lingering potion,

Hungry eyes, looking for their prey.

I was a watcher of that game show,

I'm still where no one heard the scream,

The houses are in the opposite direction,

The flames, twerking in the end.

I'm the molten figure of that lava,

With no rest of life, without cutting

the sky, turned out it's another dream

of playing a guessing game.

I tried my best to hold on the rope,

Jump on the air to make a vast room,

for the consciousness, it's the sizzling

music so I put on my invisible ears.

But who knew, 'ifs' don't grow as legs

walking in the paradise of maze,

I, once thought blood makes

the imagistic red, in the diffused tale.

The watchers of burden, ever growing

My shoulder blades ached for a while,

The man with a fugitive task smiles,

O! Sweet torture, it's the tracing of wishing stars!

But no one bears the slack of time,

It's controlling the begotten smile,

I, once thought the sky blushed,

to keep the souls in the diffused tale.

The world wakes up with a sunny hair,

The neighbourhood leans for a budding rose,

I'm the invisible ghost in the scrolling feed,

The bird carries on the watcher's game.

— 18th July, 2024.