One tiny planet
orbing off a star puny
in some nondescript nook
of an average galaxy
Just one
among the countless
that remain beyond reach
A few dozen
among the billions
to cross paths with,
fewer still to interact with
and not more than self, if that,
to know really
A whorl on the surface of a sea,
a sigh heaved deep,
an aberration in the ceaseless chain
of breaths beyond our doing
Even the dreams are dreamt
at the mercy of shallow sleep,
and days lived till the end of date,
dying long before falling dead
If life is a choice-
it really ain't living
upto its name
or has much
in the way of choosing
A fish rounding a bowl.
An abundance that is
less than nothing.
A sky limited
by the window of my being.
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