The sky is high

Where the mountains lie.

Glorious and magnanimous

The destiny of adventurers.

Beauty of the royal snow

Now melting the living glow.

The steps are slow

And nowhere to go!

The stern bite of frost,

Still a lot to cost.

The time turned mere,

And the squall dares.

Numbness in layers

Is blocking the airs;

Fighting and clinching

Death is tickling.

People may misconstrue you but don’t let them to be credulous regarding their heeds. Hark your own words to prove and never show a slouch.👍

Everyone doesn’t have a heart like the gold of hills.

Darkness has always attracted us in many ways. Here darkness is going to teem a breezy and beautiful evening which would give you jerk of earthy love.

It was about 8 o’clock in the evening at my maternal house, Balichak. To avoid irritation of sulky village summer we had made a quick plan to go outside for having the tig of neat breeze. Without any hesitation we set out in a hurry.

The surrounding was dense and dark with a heavy silence. The path we had taken from the forked point of the way was filled with tall bamboos. The evergreen bamboos turned into everlasting black and they created a gloomy mystery. If I have to compare the existing darkness to something I would like to compare it to the darkness we feel with our closed eyes. However, we did not have enough bravery to walk through the deep gloom; so we lighted flashlights of our mobiles to reach our destination but at times we switched off them to witness the flickering fireflies that were intensifying the beauty of serene evening. Then we crossed a narrow road and entered the vast field. The darkness was less vehement there and we could see the banks with our own eyes. However we sat on a temple for a while and were enjoying the specks of beauty. Everything looked pure. A flickering light was coming from a distant hut. Without wasting time we decided to further walk and reach near the hut. We walked headlong through the bank of the field. The breeze was bending the brambles and bushes in utter happiness. Suddenly a foul smell came from the bushes. Probably it was the smell of indian fox. Nevertheless we walked on and stopped near a big tree situated adjacent to the hut. My maternal brother said that a family hanged themselves from this tree and committed suicide. The gloom of evening and the unexpected story of hanging created a psychical after-image. From then and there I took hold of my brother’s hand until we reached home. He told me more horror stories of this area when we were returning.

These feelings can not be experienced in an urban area because there is neither natural darkness nor the rumor nor the breezy wind.

Summer has not yet unleashed its presence fully; still the weather is sultry and stuffy. Sometimes the northwester unveils its scurry and the sky appears to be sombre with the foreboding of disasters. However we can not prevent it and we have to rely on the nature for disproving our agitation. Nevertheless, for a person who is protected well in his shelter, the storm turns into weal tempest; whereas the stray people become pensive.

When clammy sweats are tenacious, sleet blissfully epitomizes. Heart feels contented and the city showers perfunctory simplicity.

The clamour of squares is blaring and the eyes are pitiful being coercive ….

“Otto of jargon” and “bruise of truth” devouring but not…..

And now my paces of life are creeping gingerly with an intention to be nippy…

Wistful horizons of breath are now in the open-air of happiness and reinstating the awaited spring of scores of years….

The morning seems nifty;
And mellow everything,
Quenching the thirst of shimmering light.
Fallow lands no more would cry.
The impoverished eyes
can rein in their tears now.
All the grey of leaves
would explore the hoarded greens.
My blighty holds satiable pleasure
You can’t strangle it.