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Showing posts from May 10, 2010

The Writing Desk

The Sunday morning was fine. The air was crystal clear, bright, laved by the previous nights rain. The rays from the sun slanting through the trees and thick leaves created beams and lace-works on the ground. The nature was complete, full.
But my writing desk was deserted, except with a couple of text books, which in comparison with the arrays of books and writing materials formerly occupied the table was next to be negligible. And I was sad. However, as it was a Sunday, I have nothing much to do the whole day. So I decided to postpone my sadness and to utilise the rest of the day to study some Literary Theories of criticism. I woke up late. It was already half past seven in the morning. 
I had an instinctual pull to read. But suddenly, mom interfered and insisted that I should take a bath. It was summer and two times bath a day was a must for survival.I bathed and had my breakfast. Until I came back to my study table and restart my reading and writing, a mysterious emotion had captured…