Let the scene write itself

My words, My life


An old clock is hanging on the wall of my room. This replica of cuckoo clock has lost its pendulum and sitting on the perch of the clock’s window the old wise owl is quiet now.

It’s ten in the morning and looking at the sky, I can see the pale yellow sunshine which is a sign that winter season is slowly creeping in.

Outside, sitting on the hanging line, the sparrows are chirping. My mother is in a habit of placing bird’s seeds and they’re here to eat them.

Right now, I’m thinking of the university building which is on the back of my home. The construction work is on its way and the hammering sounds are disturbing me. The building is not far and I can hear the builders are laughing and talking with each other.

In a street there’s a cart vendor. His voice is loud but…

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