I came home on the first of May. The train pulled into Sealdah station fifteen minutes after its scheduled arrival time, at 10:45 AM. Platform number 9B was a petri dish full of the city’s live culture of people, teeming, bustling, and sweating, profusely sweating.
When I Speak, I Speak from Memory_Treehouse, Amrapali Saha

When I Speak, I Speak from Memory

  The light builds a tree-house and erases the leaves Those gossamer scrawls of ink that skimmed the sky Now fall on the road like crumpled coats and cloaks Dark, deep, deep and dark, the shadows that...