The test of Cinnamon.

The test of cinnamon because I like people who like cinnamon.

When I was in Love.

Now I merely see wretched patches of a tattered sky. A shabby sheet of cotton spread over the celestial blue. It used to be a fantastical show of mythical beasts and imaginary scape. I swear i could hear music too. Giant leaves drifting in the sky, melting. I witnessed the great theatre of a flying pig that transformed itself into a watering can. They weren't clouds, but a hazy circus troop in action.

But I was in love then.

Don't tie me down with the stereotypes of the age.

Rather think of me as an antique.

Classic and rare.

"O Buddha with eyes shut, 

Weathered skin of stone and lotus lips.

This tender smile -is it emancipation or pure sarcasm ? "

Deaf, mute and stone-hearted, these sculptures of time seem to mock my living.

Tears of joy.

Mighty peaks, seemingly firm and unmoved,
Melt down in a mere monsoon, 
Into a collective wail of a thousand waterfalls.
It shall last the season.


Overdressed in an exotic fur of green,
and fuzzy clouds against will into an unfitting headgear,
The mountains with their expanded bases, finally at rest,
Are watching and sobbing.


Baked and cracked all summer, 
abandoned by their own family in search of more capable fathers.
Left alone to contemplate on this strange destiny
In the company of some wilting dry branches.
A harsh summer indeed.


Today with everyone home,
Nothing seems overdressed, nothing too much.
The joy so great, that smiles fail.
The mountains are weeping in joy of homecoming.
It shall last the season.

It did not stop him to find his soul, his happiness. His sanity welded to his beliefs, his happiness attached to his sand castles. He built them, he believed in them, he played with them and lived in them. People thought he was insane, but they were people. And people speak.
So what if his dreams were as impractical like peacocks in flight. But they were his, and of his creation. They were beautiful and they weren't wrong.


People were jealous after all. 

There was a boy. He thought that the grapes were green and the apples red. That all peaches were peaches. That trees were still and hearts moved. Once he saw grapes that weren't green and apples that weren't red. Peaches that were apricots afterall. He saw trees running with him, some fast and some slow while inside a train and that the overwhelming site of it all blinked no eye, the excitement moved no heart.