When the sky is crimson but making my room little dark, when my bed smells of me and i smell of my bed...when the evening looks bright but the cloud looks like my smudged kohl
I feel the wrenched evening when i sat and dreamt will give way to stark dusk..and sooner to pithch charcoal night.
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I watch the ivy green leaves and the black branch, it is lingering on to...it is drizzling, and the branch looks more black...i go perky on the becoming contrast of beautiful colors. The color of red ball, which a kid is holding; the paper boats which carelessly float and gets stuck to the deserted basil plant; I also watch the old, yellow and tattered copy of Anna Kareninna on my bed side and smell its pages...I stand up and drink the earthy water and try to smell the fragrance of earthen pot...I watch the dimly lit living room and fall in love with the blue ceiling and my pink couch. I sit near the window and see the basil plant swaying with the wind, I also see the thick clouds blanketing the sky and wind turning the umbrellas....I thought of my arguable inability to sketch and strum the chords of guitar. If I were good at sketching, I would have captured everything. I also thought of humming - sound of silence,
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision
Which was planted in my brain
Still remains
In the sound of silence
Discerning the thoughts, feelings and the vision... I play on
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Night was quite something, I wanted :)
I read, re read Anna Kareninna....watched legally blond again (do not know which nth time), laughed to hilt...Friends told me not to cook, for we had a small party. I was glad!
Everybody came late, we ate and laughed...and I blissfully went to sleep.
