Two autumns. My blue pen has dried off as has been many of the thoughts. They have come and gone and no one has cared. Just like that quiet station in the village where the train itself is a curiosity first, necessity later. There is a human who signals with a green flag. Station master. I wish I would get that job in the farthest corner of human existence. But. But you all have made Earth round. In all these human rights and democracy, a person cries for a quiet corner on the busiest road. He is wearing a torn red shirt. Someone please help. I assure. He is not a communist. I am not a humanist too. One spring. I have felt a lot. I don't know if there is any capacity of emotions just like our address-books in mobile phones. We delete 'old' contacts. We bring in new. Tennyson should be happy. He would not be. At some cloudy nights I have gone through some of my such 'old' friends. Our savoured moments are called logs there. 2009/02/28 22:00:00 PM 45:00 minutes. 098...
Some Memories are hard to hold on So I put them on words.