Where the day flows

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Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose, only time

Only Time by Enya

A rather old photograph – 2, or perhaps, even 3 years – taken while riding a rickshaw somewhere in North Campus, Delhi University. I don’t remember much from the day, but I do remember that reaching college was a mammoth task for it rained cats and dogs and horses and elephants.

Photograph taken with an old Nokia cellphone.

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Stars, up on heaven’s boulevard

In memoriam, N.

Macro_Glitter

I can’t look at the stars
They make me wonder where you are
Stars, up on heaven’s boulevard
And if I know you at all, I know you’ve gone too far

– Stars by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

PS: The photograph is actually a macro shot of a handful of glitter.

Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams

 

There’s an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.
There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there’s moss about the pool,
And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:
In the silent sunken pathways springs an herbage sparse and spare,
Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.
There is not a living creature in the lonely space around,
And the hedge-encompass’d quiet never echoes to a sound.
As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find
When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind;
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.
Then a sadness settles o’er me, and a tremor seems to start:
For I know the flow’rs are shrivell’d hopes—the garden is my heart!

A Garden by H. P. Lovecraft