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As a consequence of improperly planned plans, I find myself in this tiny excuse for a city. Not a soul stirs after the clock strikes 10 and not a car vrooms after the clock strikes 8. A ghost town of unbearable silence, I find it hard to sleep when its so quiet. The trees they sway as it rains inconsequentially, the dogs they bark under layers of  ultrasonic waves. She says I mustn’t get pulled down, by the gravity that  emanates through the misty sands. She says I mustn’t let them despoil the notion I have of I.

This city, they call, the nurturer of dreams. This city I believe fears everything it sees. Should he savour the delicacies of far and distant lands, he would be locked up, ridiculed and bereft of all stands.

I dont wish you to applaud his adventure into dark, uncertain times, but I pray you let him learn. I pray you let him decide if his machination throws him into a war of fumbling limbs or a journey of hedonic stupor. As our world spins to an unseeming halt, I am of sentiment that you violate his perception of the grey and black.

Revised under eyes of experience, you dictate to the younglings. You make them believe, you do not let them see. You impose and imply and order and decree and they blindly listen. You tether them to poles that would never move with leashes that span their nose to their eyes, you create a child of limited potential and you say you own the world.

They fail deplorably when they travel to lands unknown, because you said to them, you made them wise. They know not how to swallow the air, these lands they together exude. These children of unspoken vices, they will never live outside this town they call home.

There’s not much here, I envision as I walk the streets of this new town, this empty town.

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