timeout of the fantastic memories... in the ghettoes of gurtabelos...the football days..the bloody fights..and most of all the flowers and the adolescent love story....time out of all that...next morning the whistle will blow and the iron rails will roll for a million miles...days away from home
when the night was all over the city...the fog settling stealthily on the oblivious creatures....we walked out into the darkness to look for tell-tale signs of nocturnal ambiguities....we walked for miles before we reached a crossing...deserted in the middle of the night...lights blnking red-orange-green-red-orange-green...a little boy covered only in a pair of ragged shorts and a jute sack trying to fight the chill...fast asleep...lost in his own version of utopia...perhaps a fullmeal twice a day and a set of clothes to wear...his head rested on a block of discarded concrete...leftover from the flyover constructed at public cost couple of months back...his feet bare...cracked like a charred log...time stood still for us for a while...imagining the plight of our existence...when this angel was not troubled a bit...not guilts...no feeling of sin...just a few drops of hope that the morning would shine a few more pennies in his little hands...he was like the saint that raised his hands an...
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