Wordplay: The Reading Spot

You wish you could, but never truly can... Today was Blue Ridge College's final year farewell event. All the students and teachers of the final year batch had appeared at the college for one last night of academic togetherness. Hordes of students strolled through the corridors, reliving the past few years of their lives, essentially the last of their childhoods. Due to the pandemic, many had missed a considerable chunk of college life, but had already caught up with reality. To some extent, at least. A bittersweet aura had filled the air. Students were eating, drinking, chatting away with friends for what could be the very last time they'd see each other, as nobody knew where their lives would take them in the future.  Amidst the reasonable chaos, Amit sat in a corner of the building, near the stairs, deep in thought. It was clear that Amit was different from the rest. Quiet, always thinking, reserved, academically weak; these were the labels assigned to him by the people in hi...

Rest in peace, Ms. Lata Mangeshkar (1929-2022) I still remember that day When I was new to this town Nobody got out of their way Nay, didn't even show me 'round. The town's people were a quaint folk Did nought but incessant work And the only signs of esprit were  The Nightingale and these trees of birch. The Nightingale, o, what a divine soul! Seemed as though she channeled light Her sweet and melodious harmonies, They'd drown away the blues of the nights. Each night I returned to my home Exhausted, drained and in a sulk, The only soul out there for me Was that little bird in the tree pulp. Whenever I wandered through The darkest alleys of my mind, The soft voice of the Nightingale  Would help me leave the past behind. It had been o'er a few decades since She'd been singing songs for me But good things must leave you once, As when I returned one day,  She was nowhere to be seen... It had the voice of an angel Had returned to where angels belong, "But, true ...