By Anisha Gupta
The tanned city sides,
Echoed with music.
From the flutes of sand fairies,
They played music;
Underneath the seedbeds
Sprouting flutes,
To curl the city of insomnia.
So, every night
The citizens fell asleep
Into their cocoons.
Music so mellifluous,
That even nerves took birth
On dead walls.
Ears carved out
With morning dew.
Rustics danced to the folklore,
Not some pied pipers, just wildflowers.
Whirring words muffled in my drool,
As I speak while asleep.
Teacher touched an ice-cold water bottle
To my face.
What are you whispering and why are you sleeping?
Uprooting my face from the classroom table,
I tell her that I am unable to sleep at night.
Does your mother not sing you lullabies?
Head sprung low,
I walk off the show.
As the day ends and I’m in my bed.
Rustics danced to the folklore,
Not some pied pipers, just wildflowers…
Mother shut the book,
As the rhyme words died.
I asked her for the last time.
What is the tune?
She said she doesn’t know.
Maybe that is because,
My grandma never let her know too
By Anisha Gupta
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