The mornings you rise
impregnated with loads of ideas and feelings
and you are strained now
as if you have fought over something
throughout the night
the ones which get disappeared beyond recollections
after a shower as if it cleanses
the Lasya and Shrinkara which hides and seeks on your face
the Athbutha which blooms in you eyes
the fingers which clusters to form mudras unknowingly
the Beebhathsa-"yuck" you eventually emerge to others
cacophony when ragas of unknown names and origins code-mix
and code switch within you and emerge
thanks nobody listens
The late nights you are confused
between the books and the phone
the random night-walks you make
beneath the trees filtering the moonlight
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