Sunlight on ceiling, creating Halos.
Slowly turning, into lines of shadows.
Window of memories, ajar again.
Opening images, stored in my brain.
Remembering the lady, I met somewhere. Dazzling merry eyes, lips saying prayer.
Mystic beauty, etched by wrinkles.
Old raspy voice, no more musical.
Lost her again, in the cerebral meadow.
Back to ceiling and lines of shadows.
Nivedita Sikdar
Delightful nostalgia 
“The cerebral meadow” 😮 love that
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🤗❤️
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🤗❤️❤️
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I wonder, is the cerebral meadow a projection of the writers mental state, or is it the meadow that literally has an intellectual capacity itself? Once again. Captivating.
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Cerebral meadow is the writer’s mind or the memory.
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All the more intriguing.
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Thank you 🙏
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Thank you for putting your words out. I look forward to reading them when I’m on here.
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👍
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