Long queue in the corridor, anonymous faces 

in the motionless mirror, shows, movies 

slowly unfolding in the standardised

way, dreams: tethered in wireless brain, 

pause: before you move back to another

reflection, you'll see the old pines growing

more and more, broad in figure, in the lucrative

notion, pluck, pluck, pluck the buds before

they spread too fast, in the process of 

debunk derailed decisions, you must

be the citizen of circle drop fast by unhinged

words, reverberation of letting go—

Once you must be busy, the city rejoice

again with yellow lights, so bright, side

by side, singing about lies, lives, light

all together. 

— 3rd May, 2024.