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Four hours into sleep
and the morning sun
 teases me with it's false golds

the westward wind
coated in a wintery-chill
whispers my name.

The deal is to
to wake me up,
to make me move,

I am more than
just myself

my dreams are no more
mine alone

The road ahead
knows my destination.

I am already a part
of a motile maniac on auto

that the universe is in real.

-Punyasloka