An epitaph of a flourishing rot

I think I heard a thud last night. Incandescent facades of the apartments that overlook my bedroom laid emphasis on what ensued in the dark as they woke me the morning after.
A slender, tall, seemingly flourishing tree had fallen.
I yawn and wonder if it is a tree I recognised. I often catch myself mesmerised as I watch
trees lend roughage for nests or colour to chameleons alike.
There is a sense of loss that seems inconsequential and yet personal
I sip on my first cup of coffee, ponderous as I observe that the canopy is still. As if mourning a companion.
A visibly healthy trunk has showered its bloom and now lies still, and the thud now echoes for eternity.

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A yielding of the yield

It’s been a week of evenings with gusty winds. The trees sway! They come ever so close to my window, I want to let them in, shelter them from the wind. But they stay rooted afar. Held firm, as they bow, recline and shed leaves in decline. At times,

A familiar Sunday

It is Sunday. The sky is shut early. The trees seem dimly lit, but the canopy has decided to accentuate its green to match the dense pale blanket. I remember this day. It was a Saturday, at times a Wednesday, but often, a Sunday. I have watched it from the

A Transparent Crime!

I pace around the house, like i always do, when Iam unsure of what to indulge in. My bland windows catch my eye. I realise, it rained and the rain has stained my glass windows. I closely watch the frame. A rectangle with a white frame that holds the glass

Hue and Saturation

There is a bright crimson card that now adorns my white marble center table. Ma, ensured it reached me just in time for my birthday. It animates an otherwise lifeless, yet aesthetic living room. I have placed it partly open, so the writing on, and inside the card are readable