When forevers finally become clichéd
And the domes are outmoded
I will stick my legs out on the lawn
Maybe count the stars
And talk to the moon
Spot a constellation, perhaps
That might be a home to some gentle folks
Or just empty space
That’d employ nothing but mystery
And slyly
An angel up there
Would trick the Gods
And cut away the plastic sky
To be friends with a lunatic
Lost in thoughts...
Maybe as vulnerable as she
While I stay on the ground
Facing the dead sky
Probably asleep.
– Vaishali
