Fiction...

She had stepped out to the balcony to feel the sun…Sitting in the cubicle makes one lose track of time. And then she saw the construction work happening below. The earth was being piled.
She had only learned about piling in her basic civil engineering course…But now, she saw it in action…The brown muddy water which formed rivulets…Mud caked men mixing concrete and pouring it into a vast drum which was connected to the underground by a pipe…
The poet in her felt like the earth was crying…in agony…and the molten concrete was being poured into her heart..and pounded..on and on…till she stopped crying and was ready… No wonder they call her “Mother Earth” and not “Father Earth”… she mused to herself and returned back to her dark cubicle…

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