“Don’t I remember those rustic evenings, now buried under a thick shawl of futile memories when you and I, walked and talked and melted into the lurid nightfall? I do.” — Abhijit Sarmah Copy Share Image
“So old were you, Grammpa— the last time I saw you, anaemic You looked like the monsoon in my town.” — Abhijit Sarmah Copy Share Image
“It ends. Good things always end terribly, at dawn in his arms wrapped, silently or— late in the night in unchartered apartments or hotel… — Abhijit Sarmah Copy Share Image
“Don’t I remember those rustic evenings, now buried under a thick shawl of futile memories when you and I, walked and talked and melted… — Abhijit Sarmah Copy Share Image
“My town of clouds and river Of terrifying minds and young dreams Streets with some people Good people smiling Train tracks of dreamers, High,… — Abhijit Sarmah Copy Share Image
“So old were you, Grammpa— the last time I saw you, anaemic You looked like the monsoon in my town.” — Abhijit Sarmah Copy Share Image
“i reach the perfect cube, and wait for somebody to pick the phone back at home.” — Abhijit Sarmah Copy Share Image
