the decaying city


The walls have ears. The walls have tears.

City walls are among the saddest things in creation. They see all, hear all, know all. Yet, they know none who can notice, listen, understand.

Take a walk down an old narrow lane in Kolkata, and pause midway. Notice the tattered walls. The not-aesthetic artwork that Smoke decided would look good there. The mould that chose to survive there. The doodled wicket. The artificial stench of old concrete. The cold surface skin. The monsoon tears.

Why wouldn't you feel strange in the streets at night? You know the feeling, just not the reason. For you can't hear the silent screams drowning into the night; see the bleeding tears mixing in with the clouds; know the sins witnessed held against their frames. No wonder the sky turns blue with sadness at night.

the decaying city
Written by Yash Raj Talan


[note to self: you will grow to love Kolkata]

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