The momentary sound of a lonely soul dances on the silence of the night when the nepali watchman hums a song in his mother toungue. Not being able to decipher what the song means, I choose to cherish the melody, sweet as honey...
Far, in the distant, the train is running on the endless track, and whistling as it rushes towards its destination...
The clock, ticking in the background, brings me back to the room. The second's hand, though smallest in terms of units of time but works the hardest...
posted from Bloggeroid
No comments:
Post a Comment