What happened that day was not short of a dream.
In a for off valley by an open window opening out the frontside of the was peered into by waiting eyes.
Halves in all,open,dreaming.alive,cold and hot.Not the heat of of the Sun but desires of body.The window was open to a sluice.
The station road was a picture of chaos in the eyes of a newcomer.Saba was one.
With the last change in his pockets,Saba had his cuppa of chai at 2:30 in the afternoon.He did smoke his filterless cigarette,brushed up his collar and mouthing a few greetings at his ilk,a philosophical mouthing of expletives at the cusp of traffic circles.
Abdul spoke of now and yonder,that the person one from the crowds could fly was not known to him.
Ribs straightened to form large spans of wing.The body shrinking and the mind bearing weight.
The fruit is an innocent creature.It does not know when ripen, the leaves falling, oblivious yet multiplying and mutating which end with gravity winning.
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