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  • Writer's picturevarsha alimchandani


Sixty five tales of cotton

of color green for tall

were dripping all over the breeze.

The blue cotton had an umbrella though

and the reflections or tiles

were not so magical anymore;

just like the crows flying in the air.

But some art about humans flying

was paid in billions.

The beads enweaved to hold a glass wall;

had also gathered the dust along

and the fastest running animal

was compared to a unit

humans could only invent.

Grandmother's touch was sold

with the sanitizer

some uncapturable reflection of ultramarine blue

drugged the eyes.

A white ball could fly on its own

in the transparent breeze

and the patio could just vibrate.

The puddle held the tears

bubbles lived for merely couple seconds

and new ones formed nearby

or did the same bubbles travelled

secretly through a tunnel

below the noise of circular shooting drops

from the sky?

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