Fireflies are pictured inside the letter.
The words gleam in a constellation.
I capture the warmth and inscribe the narrative of the nebula and
Estimate the speed of shooting stars out of intense sentiment.
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How language reflects social and racial prejudices against Madh...
I burn the gloomy sky,
With fiery metaphors.
I hold the torchlight and
observe words flickering in the dim light of my compartment.
My intellect glints my story.
I believe if there are no
Dark skies, fireflies, and shooting stars,
I can't speculate a luminescent night.
