Wayward Thoughts - Unsung

The old song played in the distance. Its age seemed full of wrinkles as the sounds crackled among other noises. The street skin in folds of tyre marks and drains deep enough to hold secrets of our lives. Alive. Unlived. A stone turned in its grave. Territory marked. A dog barked. A tired bark. The old song played in the distance. So old that none of those who made it happen lives anymore. Songs kill.

"Taqdeer ki gardish kya kum thi
Uspar yeh qayamat kar baithe"

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