Through the bars crafted by mortal
hands,
A ray of sunlit sunlight rolls
in.
***
High walls with a bit higher
roof,
The room was empty, but
apparently full,
But the only soul residing within
Was the soul of the room itself;
Trapping stories between the
shades of blackness,
With just the mind, for
It needs not need any other tool.
Every nook hidden in the essence
of shadow,
Drank the hue of helium from the
core of delight,
The incorporeal got the scent, so
blissfully ethereal,
Stories turned into books, and
dreams into glyphs,
Empty benches, but not so
gloomily dull,
Strands of winds dance like dusts
of light.
***
The ground feels high as high as
the sky,
Every word I wrote, I wrote them
for you.
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