I wonder
what lives between the plains of turning clouds, what light between lightless balls of water lives, and what darkness descends
as god
closes her eyes,
The spherical blanket which shields us, a bandage over unrepaired wounds,
complacent feet trample
flatten wavy grass
who harvest grains which continue
our wisdom.
But our feet cry from their injuries,
same steps as feet before them,
Sharp pain revolves, as cold planets
around our saddened earth,
returns to its birthplace
and breaths anew
Until our feet,
which have journeyed long
step somewhere else
Medha Mankekar, ’25