Abandoned, silently it lied there. Moist on the ground. It had someone's company. Sometime, some where. It had the sense of belonging. The beauty of decoration and the fragrance of admiration. It had all, in it. But its felt aside, it has lived its stint. Left over on the ground, no beauty it looks anymore, no fragrance it dispels in the coll air that touches it. It just lies there waiting. Waiting in the hope that the air will bring it its company, its beauty back. The air will take away the loner with it. And it will rejoice again, now in hope and then in possession. Possession of the one who left. It alone, uncared.
Truly
Abinash
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