HOW I WANT THE LAST EVENING OF MY LIFE TO BE

Before quitting everything. I want to recap every happiness. Or maybe the only happiness I had.

Even today this foyer is brilliantly lit up in the golden light of sundown. The tower clock, standing tall and far eclipses a greater portion of the horizon from my sight, the immortal pendulum of whose now, perhaps pities my stroll to departure.

As the oscillations of my rocking chair gradually diminishes, drowning with it the creaking of its timber, I graciously race back to time.The time when the sun down at this foyer of my house smelt of crushed coffee beans dissolving to hot milk that she poured from a porcelain tea pot.

“Pleasure of Sex” versus “Pain of Hunger”

The flame reluctantly glowed over the last piece of timber they managed to put together to fight cold that night. Soft flakes of snow like a summer drizzle kept pouring from the dimly lit sky and the otherwise green foot hills of the Siwalik’s, now looks like an art paper untouched by its artist.

Held above the shutting flame, on a thin bamboo streak was their supper for the night; hind limbs of a lamb. From the tint of the flesh, one could say it was a long way to go to be roasted fully and the strong winds that constantly rose from the pine woods to threaten the fire was making sure that they sleep the night over two cans of beer, yet again.

The pain of empty stomach could be felt well in their demeanour.