When The World Forgot Its Rules

By Ankit Rathore

One morning,

the sun rose from the west—

confused, tired,

dragging heat like a misplaced promise.

Trees whispered backwards,

leaves growing into seeds,

roots loosening from earth

as forests floated toward the sky,

searching for a home among clouds.

Oceans climbed mountains,

salt turning to snow,

whales soaring like forgotten angels

while eagles drowned in silent waves.

Rivers flowed upstream—

fish swam toward their birth,

time folding like weak paper,

memories walking in reverse.

The wind stood still,

like it had forgotten movement,

and thunder arrived without lightning,

a voice with no anger left to carry.

Children laughed without joy,

smiles heavy as storms,

and the moon refused to rest—

glowing at noon,

pale and terrified.

And in that strange hush,

where day felt like night

and endings dressed as beginnings,

the earth exhaled

a tired, ancient sigh—

as though it finally remembered

that even worlds

grow weary.

Now the end has come—

not with screams,

but with a quiet ache,

like a heart breaking

one last time.

By Ankit Rathore