Worded an evening,

When the dewy mist
Settled a bit,
She asked me,
'So
Where do they take you?
These words and phrases...
All these long pssages,
This evening,
What do you think?'

'They,
Are like my heart's joy,
My darlings of heydays,
My journeys by trains and trams,
Ringing, within,
To artful works,
Brown terracota,
Dokra black,
Wooden shapes,
Earthern wares from Bankura...
Horses and elephants,
And...'

I took a look
At her,
Her curious gaze,
Her shawl,
Her flattering laugh,

' and?'
She was eager to know,
' and...
What?
I am here,
Writing life,
Like,
As you sit before me,
And we talk,
Like,
As the cars are honking down
And our words getting painted into a poetic form...
This evening...'

She smiled,
'Winter,
Wrote Eliot,
Always keep people warm...'
She observed,

I took a sip
Of the wintry late evening deep,
And life us beckoned.

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