• Mukul Kemla


People ask me about my day;

They expect me to report

Of acts worthwhile to none.

I need not search,

For the answer echoes.

Since the last pause,

Time but all ticks and

I do not press escape.

I am blessed with these

Bits of glitch when I disappear,

All that is my anticipation,

Hatching from my existence,

Incubated by the heat,

From the friction between,

My unease and my true lies,

Of pages describing your realities,

Don't worry you are doing fine,

The only page I forget to write is mine.

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