Dead children…

An old playground.

Not used anymore.

But there was a time…

When children played in this ground.

These children are dead now.

Have become adults.

Yet whenever I come here…

I can hear their laughter in the wind.

(We are still here…)

Oh, God.

Why can’t I not die once more?

To be a child again.

READ ALSO:  Imagining. Performing. Dreaming of being God. Being one.

And forget whatever I have learnt that made me believe in death…

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