“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
“My town of clouds and river Of terrifying minds and young dreams Streets with some people Good people smiling Train tracks of dreamers, High, happy, celebrating— Us, themselves and the beauty.” — 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
