piano notes under the greyness of a wet sky and within warped walls of a room, the mustiness of yellowed paper, and glazed eyes on the whiteness of cement; and somewhere on a scratched, faded wall, tired hands resting in the hope of regaining hope.
The clock has stopped. But then, it had broken a somnolent decade ago. Time has stopped— it was supposed to continue unimpeded: ad infinitum, ad nauseam. The cat does not stir on the thornless hedge— It’s frozen midway through an unfinished yawn of shattered semi-expectation: its blackness scares wheeling birds in their already hesitant flight. The half-melted sun is stationary in the gelid rain— rain that turned to sleet last summer… The gutters are still overflowing since the fetid, burning rains this monsoon— the last rains ever…