blackhole in the sky

before: an enigmatic, whole atmosphere of
when this majestic tangle of the waters, and
the skies and the trees and the ones we bid our
goodbyes, did not howl at night;
once, when the saffron bled into
the lavender bled into metallic blue,
destinies were scribbled on drops of winter dew.
stars
twinkle
twinkle.

but behold a revolution, a rejuvinization:
technological marvels condensing into digitised fine lines
giving into magnesium ribbons being used to
tie up gifts.
its affliction has started travelling through every vein,
colouring the lushness grey;
scarce stars
faulty twinkles.

now: a new generation feasting on the
smoke and dust settled within our lungs and minds.
its tears aren’t absolving us of our sins
but causing destruction and distress;
fine gradients clogging lives.
“a blackhole in the sky!” she shouts but
it is nothing but a blank canvas.
no stars.

when this round is safe from
drowning in it’s own melted mess,
just like drowning in its own blood— the ice;
i am promised
someday, we will dance outside.