There was a door that wouldn't close ... and the cold wind kept blowing in through it. There was a sick man on a bed, alone in a room with a broken door. On a table in one corner of the room there was an empty photo frame. The window always remained shut. The sick man got sicker by the day. The cold wind from the broken door used to bother him, now he enjoys it. Half of the time he lies there unconscious - but during those small lapses where he did regain his consciousness - pain didn't bother him anymore, and he looked around his old room with amazement and endearment - he knew all this wouldn't last very long, he was going to be free very soon.

An open field with a gentle breeze, bathed in golden sunlight - and he stood there - being drowned by all that - and he didn't know what happened next or if even there was any next ... He was filled up to the brim in that moment, he was kissed by eternity.

© Saibal Samadder