COLD

COLD


Artwork: by Krishanu Kakati

Rov was down with a forlorn feeling. He also felt old because he was tired and devoid of any energy. He was sitting on his bed wrapped in a blanket to avoid the cold wind blowing into his room through the open windows that also let in the moonlight and the shadow of the withered tree, which happened to be positioned between the far away serene luminescence of the moon and the desolate darkness in Rov’s room, in the witching hour. The branching shadow grew longer every passing minute, until it silently encroached on the bed and then fell upon the motionless form of Rov, hiding under the cover of the impenetrable blanket, his face turned away from the direction of influx of light and wind, and also forming part of the otherwise uniform all-pervading darkness. No feature of his countenance was thus discernible and he lay still in unfathomable pensiveness, in synchrony with the bleak black surrounding which was overwhelming any transferrable resilience against the wishful decadence! It was the “Pinnacle of Solitude!”