Lost in Sanctuaries
Dear Readers, Today I write to you in a more mundane state of mind than usual. Huddled in a corner of a bus amongst other ruffled inhabitants of the city, I feel grounded, yet entangled in the inexplicable threads that help this metropolis move. In my hand was a crumpled piece of paper on which I had penned down a few words in crooked handwriting. Seated in the sanctuary of a dilapidated bus stop, gazing out at the swarming street, my mind had wandered. I had written: The first gust of monsoon brushes gracefully through the wilted leaves, Her locks of sienna and hazel surrender to the frenzied breeze. The dusk serenades in orange and gold. Swarms of feet toil in the drizzle, Rhythmically they stomp and shove. The once dusty roads are now abstract paintings of the eerie sky above. The rain has granted reflections to all. All sans one. The dusk was slowly being invaded by the darkness of night. The faint moonlight filtered through the sm...