The Sun had a gloomy face. The eyelids of the clouds opened and spread a stream of wet tears. The earth became wet like saliva on the tongue. Rain drops trickled from green leaves as watery wand. I hear the cry of the Rooster, and it’s touching a musical note in my soul. The feathers of birds remained drenched.


Author: Anand Bose

I am a Hellenic Philistine driven by the mad pursuit of aestheticism, an existential nihilist and post modern deconstructionist. I am also a Christian Apologist.

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