Of words.

His voice, like butter
Melted on your bare neck
As he whispered
Delicious, tasteful words.
Words which could flow
…which could burst out the seams
Of your dreams, of your reality

His voice, like the ocean
Crashed on your toes
As he spoke with
Vast, infinite words
Words which could ebb
…which could wash over silence
Of your present, of yesterday

His voice, like the breeze
Played with your ears
As he wrote with
Eloquent, articulate words
Words which could lift
…which could intoxicate the hour
Of your imprisonment; willfully, knowingly.



-By E.E Cummings

For more, go to this page!

– as small as a world, and as large as alone 🙂

A Summer Sunday.

Lazy sundays are the best. I’m writing this as my roommate tries to sleep. We woke up quite early you know, around 8:40am. I made coffee for myself, drank that with two pieces of cake to eat. Bathed in warm water. Shampooed too. Cleaned my room a bit and then I opened my textbooks to write the notes of pending subjects. Called up my cousins in Udaipur on a whim. They’re in classes two and eight. Babies. Spoke to them for sometime. Felt like a child. Changed. Walked to the nearest bus stand with my roomie for a sunday lunch of bhaat, shukto, fulkopir torkari, alu bhaja and chaatni. Hogged. Felt so hot. Made a mental note to stop wearing an inner under clothes. That season has passed. Stopped for a paan enroute the bus stand. Came back in an empty bus. Was so sleepy in the bus, my feet felt funny. Tingly. Head was heavy. Reached home. Switched on the fan after months. Summer is back, spring stayed for two whole days this year! Changed into summer PJs. Crept under a blanket and clicked this picture of my roomie.

Such a relaxing time.

And now, it is time for me to sleep as well. 

Lazy Sunday 2