Automated cloud trails,
Unconscious spark mails,
Detailed inbox with a hazy present,
Roads curating moonlit dissent,
Always asking for an unending story,
Always in search of the mystic glory,
As random as the presence of the blue in the eternal green,
As random as the aurora in my over-layered dream,
The network is scattered and jumbled up,
Having the split off tea from my fascist cup,
The house is drowned in painful sighs,
Whispers and murmurs never rise,
Far away on distant lands,
Your music washes the mundane sands,
Let the clotting blood meet your flow again,
Let the new born sighs turn into storms and breed butterflies of rain …
