And there is a diary in the book shelf that belongs to Kashiv; Dreams, it is named in that hurried hand of his. And if you read, flipped through the pages you wouldn’t find any date nor would you know one dream from the other, it would go on like one continuous dream. Just like… Continue reading i KILLED ME
And on the window were gathered faces, excited and expectant. Their eyes were sad and unfulfilled. On the floor inside the room lay the ball, miles away from the reach of the children, static and expressionless. The glass was broken where the ball had hit the window, leaving a hole never to be… Continue reading THE SENSE OF LOSS
And when through the open door, looking out into the open, rushed in an unbridled and obstinate wave of air it swayed the calendar with it, taking it along, to where the air was travelling. But the lonely nail held the calendar where it hung, just like the rod that held the curtains where it… Continue reading RANDOMNESS
And It was dark. The bulbs hung tirelessly from the ceiling, their presence today was felt more than any other day. It was on days and nights like this that they actually existed. Today their existence had a meaning. Today they were dead. Kashiv was perched on the plastic chair he so rarely used to… Continue reading THE MEANiNG
KASHiVOLOGY 