Count my veins running all over my arms,painted like inky blue vines on Chinaware-white ceramic base.
Because you can't count these thoughts,dense as Madhubani trees,swimming ahead at the velocity of this ope sunlight we're standing in.
Classrooms begin to murmur and stir,feet begin to shift rather silently,it's a movement,a revolution no one has hear of yet.
It's the end of the week euphoria overpowering every other feeling-the ultimate wait fulfilled.
And we sit here,blotch-free sheets of blank paper now,for our work is our prayer,these words our only Prophet.
Because you can't count these thoughts,dense as Madhubani trees,swimming ahead at the velocity of this ope sunlight we're standing in.
Classrooms begin to murmur and stir,feet begin to shift rather silently,it's a movement,a revolution no one has hear of yet.
It's the end of the week euphoria overpowering every other feeling-the ultimate wait fulfilled.
And we sit here,blotch-free sheets of blank paper now,for our work is our prayer,these words our only Prophet.
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