A Place of Quiet Objects

If there’s anything that you must hold on to for dear life, it is your memory. It is a reminder of a life lived, albeit etched with suffering and hardships.

Sea of Sounds

The spasmodic cough of father’s old scooter bellowing, “Leave me leaning by the Banyan tree, under its shade I shall remain for years hence.”

One Evening

The evening runs its course. What remains of the plump boys loitering in the playground are slender silhouettes that look as uneven cutouts from a cardboard sheet; contours of everyday objects further tapering off from their earlier shapes to a stream of black.