It always happens like that

falling, you need a ground to strike
solid, harsh; something to bang your head
to crack your skull when you open

your eyes in a cozy blue-lit room
with a distant rain lingering in your senses
and the neons flickering on statues in bedroom poses.

It has no beginning to boast off
it ends where it began
bottomless like you.

Samartha Vashishtha