milieu

milieu, indian ocean, some russian-origin joy. delicious bangla food, much laughter, fireworks and music under a crescent moon, iced tea and chocolate dessert, naked sex :). thank you, presidency.

3D Dreams

The Technicolour dreams of the average Judean feature

Smoky ledges

Charcoal skull-heads on white walls that look like the dead faces of people you know

Old coffee cups

The smell of second-hand books

Trees till the end of nowhere

Laying on your back in the grass looking up at the blurry sky with a symphony in your ears

Extensions of thought. Would you like Byron if he hadn't been a libertine?

Clowns in the middle of nowhere. They giggle softly.

The sounds of a train passing down the line a few hundred metres away. Laughter when it's gone.

A dog's brown eyes, soft nuzzles on your knees. You want to take it home

Hollow corridors, empty of people except for one sad-eared boy reading the notice board. The sound of water falling in the parking lot below

The stairs around the back of a vacuum. There go your friends. They wave and stop.

Smiles through a sunny curtain of cobwebs. A cat curls around your ankle, yearning to be scratched on the back.

Once upon a time, there used to be lovers on that rusted bridge over shallow green waters. The old man at the gate remembers chasing them away.

The library in the summertime. Reading in coolness.

Minds you found and liked. Oh the merry randomness.

Eccentric oblong of affection. Yet we are loyal.

The fluttering of new, crisp pages. Skim, don't read.

Sudden lust. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. In the end, nothing gained. Nothing lost.

Sometimes it's worth it, she wrote. Other times, just let it go.

Happiness. The End.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------