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My friend lives at the turn of this road. But the road is so long it never ends, never bends,

never once lets me meet a large tree, delightfully shadowed. 

This road… 

At the turn of which I think my friend lives. But this walk is so unplanned it’s never mapped, 

never wrapped, never once a twig snapped from that tree that was supposed to be. 

This walk… 

At the end of which I thought my friend lives. But this thought is so mine it’s never shared,

never declared, and never paired with another branch of that tree that was very me. 

This thought…

At the end of that me, there never was a tree, never a walk, never a road with an end. 

Nor was there a friend.

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Pritha is a high school teacher who teaches English Literature. An avid reader she wonders and finds ways to challenge the limitation of her knowledge and understanding of literature and life every time she opens a book. She scribbles to straighten the myriad, incoherent thoughts that do not allow her to rest in peace. She loves to travel and anything musical.