Having jotted down the iambic stanzas on the chopping board and collected the veggies alive from the realms of metaphors that smell the labor of her regular gardening records;

She places some candles at the heart of her living room where her lost lullabies take some deep breaths to start their days.

Morning, evening, night–

There is this ode to life that she reads out to every bird dropping off to her apartment like paying guests who only join the sleepers' compartment.

A symphonic cassette of poetry murmuring through the twigs of her well-groomed plants and their grandchildren love their master's presence and pressure to bloom like a mature sunshade tent in where she can take the pen and paper to turn the blues of her life into some tolerable features in yellow colors.

Everywhere you take a look–

You come across the sensation of her year-built suppressed wishes and paradoxical desires to be dead among the worst interpreters of life.

This is where the good music of her gone days are preserved forever.

This is where she plays the piano of her mind like a maestro does in between the breaks of a terribly beautiful war.

This is where she would live with the love of her life so that no one knows the location of their happily ever after.

Purbita Das is doing her post graduation in Applied Linguistics and ELT at the University of Dhaka.