somewhere down the lane,through the memory vein, those shadows were getting faint,the chords were melancholy,
through those lanes a feeling has emoted sombre salsa as well as lyrical lullabies ,

the traces of those endless nights can be still be seen as purplish gone petals scattered on those lanes,

those nights which never saw day,

those crackles which never found ears,those bickerings with that charlatan,

those humming with the pack,

those excitement at exam pre night,

those disappointments at result's sight and then again jubilation on those endless nights,

those gung-ho for that jack ass's salacious lisa,

those heart breaks of that "cupidism" infected dumbheadand then the amon in the pack for whom "love was only a game",

these were the " holy grail" for those endless nights,
Now the dawn has struck and those petals have splayed,

but the fragrances are still to be felt,

the fragrances which had always battled out the tides of time and will cradle itself to the last glories,

the lanes may become highways and the petals may become fossils,

the veins may burst and the shadows may die in the oblivion,

and everytime when the chords would get melancholythose coquettish silhouttes of that "salacuos lisa" will always resurface to play those rhythmic rhapsodies.