The world's in short of vacuum cleaners,
to clean the mess
that we created,
in futile hopes of salvation
forgetting that our lives are intertwining stories,
in which at certain unpredictable moments
backstabbing backfires
drenching the earth with multi coloured blood,
no thicker than another
equally fluid and blendable-
the bloodstains on rewashable white,
long lasting
and noticeable.
Earlier it was
the blind leading the partially blind,
white sticks- so luminously white
visible even in the cold, thick mist
(un)aware
of the filtered truths,
passed from deaf to the partially deaf-
Now ring in the vacant air
thought bubbles
floating everywhere.
White and many shades of white,
what a paradise to live in!
The inhabitants so white in thoughts
How do i dare call it an abyss?
It's me.
Homesick for a mystic landscape
gray clouds and a refreshing wind
trapped inside this fragile screen,
Wondering if
I looked at it long enough,
Would it take me there
by some invisible power
right at this moment
before this feeling vanishes.
