I was a kid to look out of the window but not one to feel it open. Dark. The neon- lamp lit, flat roofs seem cautious. Eager for another busy start; on tiptoes for old, vile business. A fern skirts my compound wall. The leathery green fern. It's a money plant in origin, I have known all these days: but how "organically" fern strikes me at this moment. And, why abandon such license?!
The intention was of exemplifying some objective but I drop the idea like I rarely refrain from not being beatific or from being a pugnacious social outcast. I lavish and sulk on the ecstatic paradox; while I cower and cry, these tiny leaves run in murderous frenzy spying my late meet with them. " It's better late than never". Goodnight my faithful pillow.
