When he closed his eyes, late in a december night, he knew it was already too late to undo the past...
Having stepped on the narrow lane, only to explore a little, to get to know the country a bit more, to pick up something that might be useful for his long journey to the distant city, and having walked inch by inch to the precipice, he knew it was impossible to retrace the steps obliterated by the blizzard..
He knew from his stories that it was the invisible spider web that had pulled him thus far, it was his destiny to come to this moonlit precipice, embrace the dark deathly beauty of the waters, the abrasive, bleached winds- his closest companion-, It was his destiny to become the unbroken silence, the sacred darkness, the cold whisper of unborn..It was strange night where the past and future had annihilated the present,.. it was a night that did not exist..yes he remembered the prophacy about the nights of unexitance..now he remembered what he had found too incredulous to forget...

Of shah and the leaking bag..

Life runs on many pathways. For some it is from ordinary to extraordinary, for many it is other way round. For them time goes on..Age comes as our sky shrinks...our dream becomes an extension of routine .We no longer dream of edge of the universe-It's too far away..It’s too dangerous. .We stare at our screens and cobwebs on the roofs on sleepless nights. .Aging is the journey of stars from our eyes to the dark pale sky humbled by might of street lights. ..Our windows no longer bring the universe untested. .the panes reflect our own images-apparition of our being. .
Each night shah of blah takes out one story until the day the bag is empty. .The shah will sleep dreamless that last night....shah is too proud to beg for the trinkets of his lost memories.