CREATION

O Shillong! Again

O Shillong again, I want to sleep in your arms, get drenched in your tepid tears. I want to leaf through the verses of your thought. I can see your pensive eyes in search of a life. A life, surpassing the smoky rings of thoughts. I watch you composing them and burying them in your dark grey clouds. Shillong is one of the briefest tales written with a misty desire. And you write, and you paint, and narrate and your lips go dry, still you narrate until sleep takes all your strength. Then you dream of Shillong, a meandering curve – you peep down and it’s green, it greener every day. You render your heart, and it takes you to solitude. And there you stand lonely, defying your existence, you walk spell bound down to the stream. The madness of the drizzle makes you wet. I stood there grateful at last to this bountiful earth.

You will grow cold, your heart at loss of words, and your finger numb and at last your face turned; turned not to look at me but for the distant blind and blabbering laughter. The shades of day passed from one boat to another to fetch the catch of the day. Who said the Queen’s England is a beauty? Shillong lived above the worth of time. This is where my passions clasped with a secret joy. Shillong will smile even beyond a golden afternoon. I want to sleep again in your arms, wear your perfume and dance in your tune. I want to live as a wandering cloud in your sky – Shillong.