Blobs of light
In an otherwise dark multitude
Hanging in ether
Their existence a miracle
But miraculously guiding
People gravitating to them
Shining pates, sweaty brows,
They wander off but come again
The blobs have their charm
Its white light they give off
But they shine on a green world
Green wads exchanging hands
The eyes are glued to the green
But wander for a flicker of an instant
To the lights above
Looking for guidance
For meaning to all that greenery
You see them all around
As you try to avoid them
To make out figures in the dark
But try all you might
They’ll blind you in the end
It’s inevitable
You may die in the process
But you'll see the light
Even if it's the last thing you see.
my father took me to a haat. and there were these bulbs hanging in thin air, illuminating the sellers and the buyers. it looked enchanting from a distance.
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