23:59

These aren't normal dreams, these days sleeps aren't the same, the day to begin. I wake up early, this isn't normal ajay, I look for people around, it's just pale white, the bed, bedsheet, and towel, white is clean, or mourning. I get in my shoes, zip up my stained jacket, run down and walk. I am with people, people around, cities somewhere, somewhere on barren roads, some days next to the national highway. Back, tooth and wash, shoe and shirt, I chase harvested fields, sheeps, tributaries, lakes, ponds, rivers, unmetalled roads, dry dead homes, markets, ground-pointing roofs, cycles, deities, and temples. Papers, bundles, greetings, sitting next to me one handling steering drives me crazy, the sun sets down early, Delhi isn't the same. I am living here, days have passed.

I am looking for a bedlight