The storm ravaged the ramparts of an unknown red fort; crushing it to a rubble. I stood by the silent river, my eyes stretching as far as it could. The sun looked a bit dimmer today; and I blamed my eyes. Infinitesimal dust blinded them with persuasion, whilst I could not distinguish the grey from the azure sky.

Soon the glowing ball hid its face behind plumes of darkness, and night came in during the day. Indistinguishable for me, I, with my blinded eyes, looked up to see stars, but couldn’t, since it wasn’t night at all. Again the sun peeked from behind the darkened clouds, deceiving me. I was overjoyed once more and wiped off some dust. I thought it was day. But Nature was adamant to befool me; and this time the sun went down below my eyes, shutting the light forever. I stood agape; wandering how many nights can arrive—but I was wrong; completely wrong. I had followed the false trails of light, and when, had prepared myself for the night, day came in; and when I was living, it was time for night.

That is why I still say, my eyes failed to distinguish; blinded were they with the thick dust of persuasion, and so I thought of never opening them.