The sound of someone chopping off the branches of a tree, when everything else is silent, is beyond description.
It must be the feeling one gets when someone stabs you in the back.
The sound of a rickshaw chain missing its metal loops, when everything else is silent and there is a needle chill burning your skin, is beyond description.
It must be the feeling one gets when someone smashes your head with a hammer.
The sight of a cave of trees lighted up by the headlights of a car, in pitch darkness, is beyond description.
It is breathless.
And it isn't time that's passing by,
It is you and I.
Photograph 1 is a tree obstructing the sky.
Photograph 2 is Doubletake,Doublethink walking on the rail-tracks.
Both photos were taken on my trip to Santiniketan.
The last two lines, which are in italics, is from a poem by Ruskin Bond.
It must be the feeling one gets when someone stabs you in the back.
The sound of a rickshaw chain missing its metal loops, when everything else is silent and there is a needle chill burning your skin, is beyond description.
It must be the feeling one gets when someone smashes your head with a hammer.
The sight of a cave of trees lighted up by the headlights of a car, in pitch darkness, is beyond description.
It is breathless.
And it isn't time that's passing by,
It is you and I.
Photograph 1 is a tree obstructing the sky.
Photograph 2 is Doubletake,Doublethink walking on the rail-tracks.
Both photos were taken on my trip to Santiniketan.
The last two lines, which are in italics, is from a poem by Ruskin Bond.
3 comments:
i still can't get over it..
i still can't..
i smiled when i read the bond quote. much of this trip reminded me of bond's small town india writing.
always these trips they are slipping away. find me a way for making them stay.
it was some trip, man.
and i love bond's works.
they have this fuzzy thing about them that just makes me feel good.
and i quote:
you'd have to be an old romantic like me
to want to take that path again.
:)
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