I heard the sunset drop its glass on hostel stairs
and watched pigeons carve elegies in air.
A moth danced madly over burnt-out tea—
the sugar had melted like time.
Someone sang off-key near the prayer hall
and every verse became a bruise.
My shadow leaned against a neem tree,
whispering my name like an old friend.
The bench I loved was empty, yet full.
Even silence wore my scent that day.
Artwork by: Oscar Bluemner
