Strange Void after a long Monsoon.
The canvass white stares without a blink,
Waiting without anticipation.
The paint brushes have gone idle, and sleep,
In their cozy holsters, dry like dead eyes.
The Colors are all there,
The rainbow looks flat.
None of them are alive, all serene, calm and futile.
Time which stood still, has evaporated
There is nothing which I recognise.
I am not sad, neither in pain, nor numb.
Perhaps just about to summit the unknown.
And find the salt, that gave a taste to my soul.
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