I was sitting back in my chair at my chamber.

A little girl was saying something to her mother excitedly. Probably she was trying to make something understand to her mother by moving her little hand along with tiny figures. Gesture was very attractive. The mother was listening. I could not hear any voice. There was much noise around. I was trying to understand what she wanted to say. A smile was on my lips.

Boss called me. I was on my way. I saw her closely. Probably I wanted to see her.

The eyes of the girl was completely 'white'. I looked back. I inquired to my attendant about them. The mother came for some help... any help!

I thought.

I forgot.

Those 'white eyes' trailed me.

SREE said '' do not think (at this moment) , do not forget ever (the white eyes)"

Regards or Regret

I have regards to some of my regrets.
I should regret for some regards.

The Road Not Taken / Robert Lee Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I know.
somehow I believe.
habitually I forget.
often I forgive.
least I surprised.

Closed Path / Rabindranath Tagore

I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,---that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.

Ilfe is interesting

Yesterday at evening I was roaming over the flyover of our town. My friend was on phone. A boy was standing near by me. A girl came.

I noticed them.

After two minutes the boy disappeared. The girl was still there.

I ignored.

After a few minutes, the boy came. They talked. The boy again disappeared.

I observed.

The girl started slowly on foot.

My cigarette was exhausted. I put it down and kicked my bike.

The girl was standing. She was weeping.

I turned back.

Gently I ordered her not to cry. She stopped. She gazed. She was looking terrible. I asked her about name bla bla bla... she answered slowly... after a small muteness I requested her to go back home... she started... the last words I used 'be confident, be carefull'.

I returned to my room.

I didnt want to come back so soon. The room is big. A lot of things which can entertain me. I came unscrewd the vodka. Called my friend. No need was there to call. But I did. The muteness kills me. Every thing was there. Every thing is there. 'SREE' is not. I used to call her so. I believe she is mine. I dream she will call me. But the muteness kills me.

At 9:30 pm I called SREE. As usual she didnt answer. It was expected. But I did, I will.

Today, morning!

The newspaper says that a girl of my town killed herself yeastenight. The paper published a photo of that girl. I knew her. I met her. At the flyover.