Monday, December 7, 2009


She walked away through the tortuous path with inert steps Her lithe silhouette gradually dissolving in the dark mist that had crept in to the garden and overhung the place. The sky, at dusk, had donned a hue of trampled lilacs. At this hour the vicinity registered, apart from his grim presence, nothing but a deathly silence. Reality sank in as he waved his arm hesitatingly and tried to utter a desperate cry beseeching her to stop….but the sounds froze on his lips. The only sound that were discernible were the rustle of dry dioscorea leaves on the xanthous dessicated turf and the occasional clank of a blacksmith’s hammer pounding relentlessly on smelted cast from a distance.

A sharp north westerly swept across the plane and slapped his cheek freezing the drops that had rolled down from his eyes. He was broken, mute and rooted .A chilling darkness had ominously encroached upon the garden rendering everything that once stood bright and gleeful into obscure and stygian shadows…..Thus, some day in January ended into a bleak nightfall…Loose ends recklessly left to pine….

Winter lingered on.


The Juggernaut said...

awesum description...i could just imagine this thing

Pragyan said...

subtle description...nice one

The Listener said...

....broken, mute and rooted...its winter time for sure..