granny used to sing stories,

stories, come from tales

tales from random allies,

ally bearing replacements so my

granny collected them from her granny,

fables of oral sayings.

and this goes on,

now when I think about what I should pass by—

the next generation,

will they even need coaxing to sleep?

but they're already in deep slumber,

as if in a reminder, the wind slaps me hard

i regain my posture,

touch my skin.

nah, it's perfectly fine.

it's not bleeding anything,

perhaps, I ought to try hard—

peel the skin, like a second shade

flavours of orange tingo,

it's not sweet, more sour.

granny, you should've told me

oral sayings don't matter,

you've to peel your skin,

to be a story-teller.

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