Sometimes, breath and silence of river become complement to
each other, the evening
descends slowly on
the stairs of old
desolate
shrine, gradually the sound of bells
extinct in the darkness of banyan
tree, and priest closes the
doors of sanctorum,
alone clay lamp
remains
beneath the basil plant with flicker
of some moments, who knows
all boats of down stream
came back or not,
who keeps all
news about
the next
door, the business of world never -
stops, amid the light and dark
everybody weaves the
silken thread of
dream, tho'
it's hard
to predict durability, sometimes it's
existed entire night and some -
times it breaks in a moment,
however we never leave
to search the cozy
corner in each
others
chest, and that's the beauty of life.
* *
- SHANTANU SANYAL
