The Rooftop

The rooftop of my 1997 house
is my daily haunt in the dead of night.
It is a quotidian habit of my solitude
that embarks upon cries of foxes,
wayfaring on a euphonious breeze
that blows from wheezing trees.

Sometimes, bravery of facing life seems to be a pretence
and this daily part of my life in the rooftop
acts as the respite from weariness and the route to escape.

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