On a long, long night

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