Unrest. Just a strange itch in the eyes. Silly, silly moments of rumination. Bland and brown moments of uncertainty with a touch of green. Seconds melting into minutes, minutes into hours. Voices telling me- "Thine is not the Kingdom".
The weak spirit quickens to rebel against probability. For the tea-flavoured paradise and the lost lilacs. A crowd flows over the neon-sucking pavements. Rickshaws glide by.
I stay awake. And wait for rains.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Eta amar ekhono pora sobtheke bhalo laga lekha.
Hats off.
You write so well, minkoda.
You can compile all your blogposts to a small book.
Post a Comment