on a nameless morning, in a weightless hour, the sun was absent, behind the clouds so far..

far, far.

frantically, he wrestled the thoughts out of his mind. in a way not often expressed in public, he moved his hands.. infuriated at the sudden demise of the pompous sanity that sustained the pertubations of his wicked world. kicking out the shoes from his feet, he walked away from the congragated set of soul searchers. in his mind, it was the silliest thing that man could do. why in gods name, would anyone actually be bereaved at the loss of such pulchritude, he muttered under his breath.

her umbrella seemed less heavy as the rain started to relent. her eyes still dry and breathes still heavy. she walked along the kutcha path barefooted. her skin was roughnening at the heels, the muddy floor softening under her weight. 'it will soon drain, all of it' the words whispered in her ears.

he went along and sat in a huff. under a rusty old cold kissed flagpost, appealing in its solitude. man should sit with the likeliest thing he sees. not in his years had he seen a flagpost like that, like a blank white face in school reunion, it stood there in a corner, waiting for someone to come along and sit next to it.

she looked around, stretching her hand out. the skies above were clear blue and the umbrella, a silly hat atop her head. a lil further down the meadow, played little boys cricket, in flipflops and small numbers. puling out a log from under the tree, she sat down to watch.

he felt his gut move back to place. his time seemed to run again at the pace of the clocks around.

this is heaven, she smiled.


yesterday is a bar around the corner, we visit. once in a while.