Sometimes it happens that I feel the wind burn my cheek for a moment and a cluster thought gets tangled in the khus durrie and the cool darkness of an afternoon glance.
Enmeshed in your fragrance I suddenly touched the heat outside.
Sometimes it happens that another afternoon turns berserk forcing opening doors, windows chasing roads running in chameleon circles and a wayward belief scaling fortress walls ahead of your brushing lips.
Sometimes it happens that we peep through a cracked endurance of a Gwalior summer sorting reflections in time and heritage and myriads of moments holding from a vantage point against a creeping destiny.
