It rained hard that evening. The streets were a mellowed shade of gold and grey. A mild drizzle followed suit with strokes of breeze caressing one's soul in the evening light.The old man walked along the riverside,fluting across the highs and lows.
A side of the city could now be called debris,another - regret. Hungry faces,amputees and hysterical mothers crowded up a civilizational lie. Sixty years of fluting across highs and lows,sixty million rays of sunset and a breaking dawn rested like a forsaken shadow
of one's own. A tale of broken windows and tattered kites walked in the rain.
(Painting - 'Victoria Road, Sandown, Isle of Wight' by John Piper ; Source - Pinterest)
of one's own. A tale of broken windows and tattered kites walked in the rain.
1 Comments
Beautiful. Loved it.
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