Sunday, November 15, 2015

Looped.

I was glad
that like the day,
the road too
stood at its end.
And I fell
to my knees,
my feet weary.
As I lay down,
I cradled my head
in the palm of my hand.
It was quiet.
But as the new day broke
I saw what I had not
in the dark of the night.
That the road had
turned and twisted,
and there I stood,
once again, 
at the very beginning.

3 comments:

soumitra said...

Halo there! Lovely read. Reminded me of this

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/08/style/the-case-for-melancholy.html?_r=0

Nivedita Agashe said...

@soumitra That was a lovely read. Melancholy. Sounds so much better. :)

soumitra said...

I know :)someone had to articulate without that apologetic/pity inducing tone. THIS 'I’d much rather open the windows to the fragrant garden of melancholy, and spritz on something to go with ennui, reflection, wistfulness. Such a gentle perfume might smell like autumn rain, or a rain-damp windowsill infused with wilted, decaying roses and tears.' :)