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.
Anand Bose 0 Minutes
Published by 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. View all posts by Anand Bose