The Open Sky

Rain drenched Lal Quila! The red even more exuberant, exuding the royal love stories, from the nooks and corners of history. The dazzling peacocks, standing as guards. Where once the regal army stood, lined up with guns and cannons. The peacocks on every alternate leaf-like dome, Dancing in the rain, As the bus goes under the tunnel, And the red fades into oblivion.

Smidgens of smoke, curling around a dampened brain, as untouched petals, begin to bloom. The vast wastelands, await the final smoke, to crush the flowers that dared to blossom. Somewhere, in the din of the night, the wait lasts a split second, as the smoke curls around the damp wasteland.