Parading the dead

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We arrived at his place by 10 in the morning. A sickening smell of alcohol and death filled the room.


I felt this weird unexplainable feeling that seemed endless.


Do you know, have you felt the intense, sudden sadness that seems prolonged and the tears everlasting, flowing even before you actually want to cry and when everything else in the world does not matter to you?
I think it’s the same with love, love and death.
He always talked about this, he said “one morning, you all be here just as you always were every evening. Chilling, smoking, fucking, doing whatever you do in my house and that day ill be drunk and dead, and still satisfied and content with everything and a bit more happier dead than all you people are, alive.”
We walked languidly down the stairs.
Hadn’t felt like this in years.
Dressed in white we scaled the silent road, by the side of which tall oaks stood.
Dusty leaves,lay shrunken instead while the sun shined softly above our heads.
We were amongst young and old, parading the dead.

Mihir Deshpande

He is an aspiring architect. Love's music, poetry, art, philosophy. Classic rock entices him the most. He fancies for anything out of the ordinary, especially what people find meaningless or abstract, interests him. He likes the reactions he gets from people, they may be in form of comments or mails or even a face to face conversation, helps him think and write.