Night’s dark scent is intoxicating. Every dusky breath is a fantasy. You dream as you live, you live as you dream. Life is locked away in the box full of lives.
Morning has a pale perfume evaporating with the mere hint of Sun. You suffocate in withdrawal. The box opens up. You pick up the first life that comes up.
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A contemplative, engaging work.
Thank you Vijay sir
A strikingly singular,deftly wrought work with,at least for this reader,a muted echo of Borges.
Thank you dear Louis
A beautifully turned piece of work.
Thank you Gopal ji 🙂