I am a spoiled child coloring with natural colors the crevices of myself.
Moonlight makes my lamp an artificial gloaming.
The gloaming acts as a fluent orator through all my voiceless days.
The extrinsic me means to the society little as scattered pebbles.
But the inherent me is slingshotting the sun.
The sun is beaten up to spit out the silkish rainbow.
I am just pure as the complex but fragile rainforest.
YOU ARE READING
The monsoon literature
PuisiOur self is always so distant a leap from the surroundings. Literature is the medium of the minority to revolt, to state existence.
