The distance had always left her with immense security,the one that comes after a warm hug..or a deep sigh..or..
The longings were her only possessions,the one that comes after comforting a few desires..or overlooking the existence of belonging-ness..or..
The time was her motivation,the one that doesnt care and is always happy of being that way..
The chappals,the umbrella,the temple,the rain..also the sounds of walk along the glorious path..,the one that was never meant to lead,but to break into a hundred new ones..
The path still suffering the walks of a hundred footsteps,their ruthlessness,their mercies,their mindless queries..but, flawless intervention.
The hollow,that looked like a star gulped from a secret sky.
The key that always was lost to an unknown hand.
The hand always lost to an unknown known.
The forgetlessness,the memory.
2 comments:
...imbued with your characteristic melancholy. must be re read...
she must be that intriguing girl with a flower shop on the hillside that all the tourists talk about but never understand...nor does she !! its just so beautiful to be rationalized.
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