Raindrops on paper
‘Another wayward white strand into the bin,’ he muttered, as he stretched his right hand to throw in the bin whatever it was that he held between his index finger and thumb. I was sitting right behind him and could see and hear what Param was doing. We shared the same room in the hostel....
Be still to create
Why does it happen so, that I Get thoughts that live only if I Remain sitting wherever I Sat before I get up to write? And when I change my seat I find Myself getting some other mind And no amount of wind, rewind Helps me get back what seemed so right! Wherever else I...
