In deep night, godmen are singing hymns, shouting verses. God must be a deaf creature. But what to tell these men? You can tell God something, but you can’t tell these men. It’s so ridiculous to even think about telling them anything. You say a word to them and it’s already a joke, a waste of time. You only wish that they stopped shouting. I wish only that as of now. I can’t even tell where they are sitting. Everything is just so dark and chilled at this hour of night. Chilled is fine. I do not wish for a sun. I would rather wish for snow and plane crash. That would be something worth watching here – a jet coming down from sky right into my bungalow, putting me on fire first and then everything else, and while that happens, a snowfall to melt away my blood and tissues and make for a clean, fresh space.
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