When words flow|
It is Saturday morning today, I am sitting alone in my office. Most of my mates are late or on leave for we attended our managers b'day last night.
I am staring at my workstation, yet unaware of what's happening on it. I can rather hear a pigeon cooing, sounds like gargling to me. A constant ramming of a small hammer on nail, probably a carpenter. A loud auto-rickshaw, probably emitting black smoke.  I can hear the crisp flips of newspaper pages, my office assistant. The voices so distinct coming into my ears, pausing my days work. Everything around me sounds so rhythmic yet melancholic. Oh my! Why? Am I sad?. or Why am I sad? There is a pain though nothing happened. A loneliness though everyone's around. It happens to me, I know,at times. Its unknown, I miss him. Whom? I don't know.  Its unknown.
But this is familiar. This is when i let it flow. This is when i write'.