when will i witherasked a small floweri kept quietso that he might find the answer
“atlas of an impossible longing”
“atlas of an impossible longing”said that priest, and vanishedi took my compass and started searching the house where i had hung all the clothes to wear when i will meet her to invite her to my house.but now, i had compass and knew all the directions except that my memories played tricks and will not let me remember the dargah where i had ignited the incense and lighted a lamp and from where the path turned to that house where i had planned to reach and change into a dress that you might recognise.now i will ask a shopkeeperto give me new white kurtas so that i may robe again and hope that memories will return to tell me the way( inspired by an excellent novel by anuradha roy with the title, An atlas of impossible longing, strongly recommended to readers with interest in human situations that defy definition).
when the memories become the sandstone
when the memories become the sandstonethe life a soothing balmone just flows with the tideabsolutely without any qualmwhen you stand there and shiver in coldin a rainy night with nothing much to holdthe fire of one’s prayerswill keep you warm, without letting the momories be old