The alley is lit, with dying fluorescent tube hanging idly on the wall.
Ground is unkempt, tiles sprawling everywhere.
The walls too, endless streak of white tiles, which looks gray now to blemishes of ages.
They all used to look white, I thought
What then, makes them gray, which deviates from their true nature??
If those are just blemishes, then, how can they be transformed again, from radiant shades of gray, to as white as hyssop?
The corridor rumbled to life, each tile separates from their place, each have their own tale to tell, and disappears into the light at the end of the tunnel. What's at the end, I know not. I only know that there'll be light at the end.
Let each and every shades of gray be brought out to light, and have their stories told, and have ears listen to them, and have eyes to read them, and have the heart to feel them.
Happy New Year, And braces yourself to hear from the dark side.