maybe, in a universe opposite to ours, the mothers never warned us about the looming threats  of our potential demise  by stray bullets. we would have been raised unaware of the stench of blood  that have dried on roads. murders could be a stranger and any person could lead a village without the thought  of having him killed in plain sight.

because in this town, where flowerbeds are a kaleidoscope along the roads, where banyan trees serve the children a home, where the sky is always  a cloudless blue, we fear no monsters lurking even in the shade  of red harvest moon, but men in mask who turned pistols as toys.