I want to ride back home. NOW.
A coffee-coloured evening.
Gray and uncertain.
Uncertain and gray.
September.
A little alley in Selimpore and a tubewell at the very end of it. Hypnotic spells of microeconomics in front of a black board. Mallinath Mukherjee, trying his magical best to charm the magnitude and direction of price vectors. Axioms, a hell lot of them. Friends.
Assuring smiles. Pretty dazzling, one of them. A sense of warmth trickling down the spine. One or two strokes of uneven beauty, carelessly arrogant.
It’s September again. Damn. The lilacs are peeping out of the dead land. Sadness. Inability. Inevitability. Myriads of frozen moments, moments that will never come back.
I want to ride back home. I wish.
September.
A coffee-coloured evening.
Uncertain and gray.
Gray and uncertain.
A coffee-coloured evening.
Gray and uncertain.
Uncertain and gray.
September.
A little alley in Selimpore and a tubewell at the very end of it. Hypnotic spells of microeconomics in front of a black board. Mallinath Mukherjee, trying his magical best to charm the magnitude and direction of price vectors. Axioms, a hell lot of them. Friends.
Assuring smiles. Pretty dazzling, one of them. A sense of warmth trickling down the spine. One or two strokes of uneven beauty, carelessly arrogant.
It’s September again. Damn. The lilacs are peeping out of the dead land. Sadness. Inability. Inevitability. Myriads of frozen moments, moments that will never come back.
I want to ride back home. I wish.
September.
A coffee-coloured evening.
Uncertain and gray.
Gray and uncertain.
1 comment:
=)
Post a Comment