last night

silence stealthily stepped out last night
after putting me to bed.
i know where she went.
"i want to see a flowering gulmohar tree",
she'd said.
the seasons of her heart
had nothing to do 
with the wintry barrenness all around.
my dear silence
come home.
this is no country for the young and living.
besides, the noises are out to get me.

foggy whispers. frigid silences.
winter is a way of life.

unknown hues reflect on the canvas. not to be found on the palette. loss has a color code of its own perhaps.

survivor

its a survivor.
innumerable cups of fresh and stale tea later
experiments with 2 brands, and 5 flavors of toothpaste later
bouts of sleep semi-sleep insomnia later
focused recourses to reason and un-reason later 
many conversations, more silences later
rich hauls from nostalgic waters notwithstanding,
it stays, and how. 
the lingering taste of failure.
delicious.