About the Story

The story

“How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.”  ― David Foster Wallace

My diary opens. Lots of white pages. Lots of wordy tales.
People come out, stretch their legs, and
talk to me on starry nights. A plot wanders.
An old gossip wakes up from deep sleep.
A narrow lane meets the crossroad.
Years float. Blue ink greets red ink.
Life plays hide and seek with cloud and rains.
Rain. Countless rainy days.
Too many months of summer too, and landscapes of
of other lives left exposed.
Some boxed dreams under scrutiny.
A loud chapter about love and yearnings.
The wars within and without. Continue reading “About the Story”