By Shayaan Khusro
Among the foothills of Him,
Lie hills like any other
But less green from man’s touch.
But when the night sets in,
Bringing cold but no moonlight,
The hills wrap themselves in
A black shawl studded with stars.
Stars which shapeshift constellations
With every mile crossed.
The stars which flow in galaxies
In the valley between the hills,
Which will lead you home,
If you dare to dive into it.