The Air Was Scented

The tryst with path, was full of voices of silence, confronting its wrath & revenge. Nothing was new, soft matter divided the winds, arithmetic of energy, faced up to its agony of spent life. Decently artful, you manipulated the clouds, its music, the bluebells went into trance. The shower laden leaves started dancing. Half solemn, half smiling you preached the immortality of a sick downloaded wisdom. The golden days had yellowed vision of time, but mutation was complete. The masts were broken. The air was scented with punch & humility. Adjectives had the advantage over nouns. SATISH VERMA