The gravity in space time,
Pull needles in circular;
Alas, ain't tell the truth Slant,
Nor dilation too seen any farther.
Or impetus that’s so strong,
To slow the path all along.
As one grows with a bo-tree,
That saw generations playing;
Whilst many losing-winning,
Or extinct in different games.
So seek to move towards proximity,
Of the nearest black hole;
To feel different worlds,
With naked eyes or in rabbit hole.
The clocks would run around,
But, could one slows down?
To feel the rhythm in making,
Or scamper to mere drown!🤔
© Pranav Chaturvedi 2021