Walls are not porous and the ceiling bears the weight of frantic paces
The study seems lethargic and the books give off a smell that burns the nose
Old charm once, have now become too rancid from being consulted obsessively
Choosing a corner is not a reprieve from the blank stares of the harangued walls
Once when they were fresh and anticipated some vibrant conversations
But life turns foul and even the minds become moldy, dreams often become sour
Pale dreams are being sold and the ambience is embellished with morbid colours
There’s no point in drowning the sorrows in ale and preserving them longer
Time to conjure some strength and call upon the universe’s guardian
Inclement weather has been harsh to love and have not yet romanced the soul
~Amitav
