Saturday, August 27, 2011


Photography: Rathin Mitra
Moss is growing on your rooftop, Boonyi.
I remember times when your room was my hide out after school hours; you looking over a seven year old me playing with my toy train. Now they report to me that there are cracks in your ceiling. One August night after another water oozes out and wets your bed.
It's been twelve years I have not seen you grin your toothless grin, smile your wrinkled smile.
It's been long, too long I have not seen the sun shine on your silver hair.
Love is growing on your rooftop, Boonyi.

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