The door does whisper, by the tree it was,

Away from earth, the horses neigh aloud,

When phantom tidings pulsate all across

Prithvi replies, in great and nimble cloud.

The dusty roads bear trails of bygone wheels,

Unwonted proof of greater forces still

That which with distance and wisdom reveals

Ten thousand faces on the windowsill.

Become, yet, only ash and add to Earth,

Compose mud into one again- we see

The distant stars becoming parts- rebirth

As minds catch reason flee along with me.

Survival is but The genetic game

And I- a player- merely username.

~Ajay
27/3/19