I have a windowsubliminally toa quiet housewhere the diaspora of silence ebbs and tideslike the brackish waters ofSundarbans.Making sense like broken ..
Give it a name, something colloquial, somethingeasylike 'there'. Like the city you have left. Far behind.Or somewhere you have arrived with your bagga..
I don't remember if its nineor seven feet every second.But that's how you escape gravity,forget stories; estrange your shadows.The unexplained sluggis..
If this were about a closure.It would be a museum of many things,knick knacks, illusions and poems.Words flaring up like an old bruisesome caving in l..
There is a placesomewhere along the hairlines of oblivionObscure yet with history.Where you are a tendril of a vision.Dim yet with commensurate charm...