There's no hope of the smoke settling, even the nights seem blurry and bleak. Peeping my head out of the balcony, I desperately wished for the sight of the shining dust, I wished for magic. For once I thought it was the city lights that kept away the shimmers on the sky, but it wasn't. Nor was it because of the lighthouse lamps. It couldn't at all be the floating lanterns for they appear only once or twice a year. I kept wondering if the stars were under a massic mood swing like me, not wanting to show their face! But how can they stay away from their missy moon for so long?
I couldn't decipher it because it was never visible, it was gradual like slow death. So slow that it skipped our gaze. But now it's obvious, before our eyes, existent and evident. And not us, but the stars had to pay the price, the price of their existence.
I am still on the balcony, pondering over a gazillion things, thinking what if I had listened to granny, she had put her heart and soul in believing that our ancestors lived above the sky and they visited us gliding over the stars, signalling us with a spark of love. And here I am dying to find one such star for my granny loved me too much. But today I realize that, maybe it wasn't about faith, maybe it was their excuse of keeping a check on the sky, for who knew if anybody was bothered about the stars, midst the beaming crescent moon.
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