Walking by the Sea

I walked barefoot
on cold sand,
the sea rumbling
at my feet.
The moon, I
and the sea
were woven
in soundless symphony-
Of eclipses
Of low tides
Of memory
Becoming a stranger.
And,
the blue-veined moon
the silvery sands
the iridescent sea
in a trance
under somnolent stars.

One Winter Night

A few hours to go before her first exam, she lies on her bed, curled up, a terrible pain writhing through her body like some snake about to pour out its venom. A muggy mood is hanging upon the wintry sky, outside the window by her bed. She's restless, tossing from this side to that. Tomorrow is going to be an ordeal. For someone who had immense difficulty in drawing a breath , sitting in a room full of other people, stewing in the white heat of examination fear, jitters and the general lack of ventilation was not going to be that easy a job. Endophonic noises were running a riot in her head. A vein was faintly throbbing in her temple. Her very immobility made her feel like a captive. But well, she was sick enough to remain a prisoner of her own condition. That's when a gust of wind blew open her partially-drawn curtains. And she smelled ripe mangoes. Yes. In the middle of a foggy, stifling winter night, delirious with pain, she smelled ripe mangoes.