After the drudgery of the everyday,
The transit is where
I view the Other.
The Other a vast city,
The city my home.
The city strewn with memories.
Oh! How I wish the initial pink
Of those memories remained pink,
Where were strewn the glitter
Of stars, hopes and smiles.
Now, those places of memories
Have taken a fiery red.
The glitters were sparks
For a raging fire.
Oh! How I wish I could burn
Those havens.
Yet, the fire holds a certain calmness
Of time and place
That is just Ours!
But burn they do!
-Dishna Phukan
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