It was an evening quite like today. The scent of the wet earth still lingered in the air. Yesterday, rain was the devil. It had in it's power to destroy what was going to be the most memorable day in the life of this bride But today, the rain humbly withdrew from the limelight. Today's star was going to be this girl, sitting pretty with her hand in his', still counting her heartbeats. In those heart beats she was counting time till when she would finally becomes his', when she can  would finally drop carelessly into his arms.

That night, was her night. I was lost somewhere in the grand crowd of eager faces, each of whom smiled for her happiness and comfort. I did too. It was an evening like today. The musty breeze seemed to be my only companion. I had come wishing for her happiness, but in that crowd, I had found myself to be terribly lonely. It was only the bride's face which was familiar. Rest were unpleasantly strange. My imaginations were running amok. Someday, in near, yet distant future, I shall also adorn a pedestal much like her's. To a sprawling acreage of lush greens, I shall also be the shimmering queen.

But for that day, I was lonely. In the unending multitude of heartbreakingly unfamiliar faces, I only had the naughty breeze for company, which also devoted attention to tickling the ribs of small bright lanterns suspended from each tree in the magically illuminated garden. That naughty, musty breeze might have remained my only companion had fate not been in a playful and yielding mood.

Tired searching for a soul warming cup of coffee from the mad array of exotic delicacies competing for attention, I could finally locate a near empty table which seemed friendly enough to accommodate me. I did notice a lone male figure occupying the seat across my own, but that his features would be breathtakingly gorgeous, I had not expected. Had I even meekly expected, I would have stayed away. A dreamy romantic and a hapless single are a lethal combination for a girl who suddenly finds herself in such a titillating zone. Boredom also plays its role in necessitating a leap of heart in thinking "now begin the bright times".

Was I crazy when I shared the first smile? I promise, I did not do it knowingly. His beaming, spotless face evoked a smile in my heart, which promptly ran to my lips. He smiled back. Effortlessly. No, eagerly. This, because, as I later realized, he was my male counterpart at feeling lonely in the deluge of people. Like me, he knew no one else. Like me, he had no company. Like me, may be he too needed someone like me. Yes!

The conversation began with pleasantries. It moved onto polite inquiries.  Name. Occupation. Weather. Food. Ambiance. The bride. The groom. The match. Back to occupation. And then, inevitably, life. Why I said inevitably? Because a part of me told me it would. He had small eyes, hidden behind rimless glasses, which became smaller when he smiled. He never stopped smiling. Consequently, my once sombre face too, did not stop smiling. Worries about reaching home early dissipated into the cold air as I concentrated on how dapper his black suit over a black shirt looked. Did I say dapper? Casually graceful would be more like it.

I am not a shy talker. I must've been talking a lot. I might have said something which made him remark- "You know, sometimes, its just fair that we count our blessings. Those lines of worry which crease your face will disappear in a nano second then." I did not know why he said this, but that is when I kind of came back to senses. What seemed titillating till now was seeming genuinely nice and warm. There was something about his happy countenance; he made me want to smile. It sounds mad, but it also made me want to show my sadness, for he seemed like someone who could still make me smile. There was an enormous amount of positivity radiating from him. What most soothed a nervous girl's heart most was that he was not being kind to me. He prized my chance company as much as I did his'. And this I know, because he was not interested to even look up when bride and groom readied themselves to command attention from each pair of eyes as they exchange the garlands of sacred flowers. He would have much rather continued the conversation, but I did not want to miss one of my favorite rituals from a traditional Hindu wedding.

I stood there, watching them lovingly garland each other. I loved the clandestine glances stolen. I loved the delirious applause filling my ears. I loved seeing her turn red as he claimed her hand back into his. I loved all this, and yet, I wanted to get back to that one conversation which I knew would ease me through the dreariness awaiting with open arms at home. Somewhere, in the middle of that celebratory commotion, I was commanded to head to the gate. My car awaited me. It was late. And I am a girl. A nervous tingle on my spine saw me running to the gate after saying a quick and polite bye. Nervous. I did not think of it earlier, but how many people had seen me laugh and joke and talk with this virtually strange guy in this crowded, yet lonesome place?

On my way back home, I felt silly for feeling all that I did. Sweet silly. I felt grossly silly for not knowing why I did not exchange numbers with him. We had clicked decently well, it would not even have been awkward. No regrets, facebook is the great savior of today. All I need to know about anyone to permanently invite him into my life is his name. I knew his'.

At night, a night like today, with chill pricking at my bare arms, as I sat with facebook friend finder open in front of me, I decided against 'finding' him. He was the perfect stranger. Straight out of books and poems I had read and fantasized about. He will only remain the perfect stranger if I abandon my pursuit. Meeting new people, good people, people who survive only as fond memory, is a dreamy concept in retrospect. I like the dreaminess of it  I closed that chapter there. Now I only revisit the pages when the blur in my memory turns inviting.

PS-Few days back, he 'added' me. I cursed facebook for interfering with my dreams from the past. Did I add him too? Well, I still am a nervous romantic and a hapless single. Should I?

Love is sacred, yet to many lost and caught in this web of society, it remains forbidden. Love is universal, yet to most who devote all their senses to its pursuit, it remains elusive. Love is ethereal, yet it is defeated more often than not by considerations real and pragmatic. Love is love, yet in this one word lies a myriad of emotions ranging from happiness to anger to jealousy to possessiveness to sorrow to calmness. Love, as we see and feel it around ourselves today is simple and complex at the same time. The variegated hues of this simple-and-complex phenomenon and its diverse manifestations- some lovely, others ugly- is what is explored in another brilliant anthology published as a continuation of the Urban Shots series. This offering of short stories is aptly named- The Love Collection.

The above paragraph surmises with flair the moods, thoughts and emotions I underwent while reading the stories picked up by editor Sneh Thakur to be published in this compendium. Compiling 31 stories by as much as 27 different authors must have been a daunting task for Thakur (who quite adorably refers to herself as 'pint size Rapunzel'- a description I cannot quite get over), given that 'love' is an emotion all of us like to talk/write about. It serves perhaps as the first motivation for nascent writers to put pen to paper. Not guided by a uniformity of writing style, guided solely by a common emotion running through the 30 odd stories- the book could have faltered on many aspects- the most important being monotony or stereotyping. Love is not always dreamy. It is not always like a bollywood movie. And much as we would like to argue, in real life, it is not always depressive and unyielding. This book does well to explore the many shades, including the greys, of love and compile them in neatly. Each story stands out on its own. I could not compare or hold any two similar in the essence they portrayed. For this, the editor and the various authors deserve a proud pat on the their back.

Having stated in clear terms that I loved this book, two or three stories left me sorely disappointed. May be because they did not appeal to the dreamy lover in me, may be because I hate to associate depressiveness (almost clinical) with love. Very rarely does it happen that I leave a whole book unfinished; much too rare is the case with short stories. In this book, while there were stories which I devoted time to rereading, there were some I did not feel like finishing. That said, I would still strongly recommend this book to readers of contemporary Indian fiction. The stories contained in this book are stories about characters whom we meet in real life, characters we identify with, characters we hope we would meet someday and characters we thought existed only in stories. Exploring diverse backgrounds, wading through different emotional topographies, these stories are perfect to discover and understand and even amuse oneself with varying facets of love. While in some stories this emotion dominates, in others its subtle; in yet others it chooses to lurk around the periphery.

Importantly, reading for quite sometime titles under the Urban Shots series, I have come to realize that short stories are the perfect, breezy metro reads that can fit into demanding schedules of the day. You can leave anywhere, pick up anywhere, and still not feel lost. If the book lover inside you feels suppressed unwantonly because of compulsions of material world, The Love Collection might be a good place to start at. 3 stars on 5 it is for me. My quintet from this collection-

1. Making Out by Hina Siddiqui
The Editor's pick, and appropriately so. The title explains much, and hides much for what this story might be about.
2.Strangers by Ahmed Faiyaz
Begins normally, ends eerily. One of Ahmed's best short stories I have read.
3. Twisted by Lipi Mehta
You thought it was simple, but actually it was not. Exploring a different side of love.
4. The Jhalmuri Seller by Bhabhani Shankar Kar
The simplicity touched me. Simple, but beautiful and a little more than just a tale of nascent love.
5. Reality Bytes by Anitha Murthy
Will touch you, I guarantee. This was one of those I reread.

and I would also mention one which does not leave my mind, for it was one of the only which pandered beautifully to the romantic within me- A Girl Can Dream by Ayesha Khanna.

Once again, a very satisfying read. 

(Reviewed on request from Grey Oak-Westland)

Part I- The Ending

Part II- The Premonition

Part III- The Celebration

Part IV
The Last Song

Love is not what you arrive at. Love is what you travel through. 

The two hours are about to end. I will have to wake him up. Should I just let him sleep? If he misses his flight, it'll buy me some more time with him.Should I be fooling him? He has trusted me in one of his weakest moments. I have this feeling that he will love me for fooling him today. The question is, should I? What I can't figure out is- will it prolong the celebration, or will it prolong the pain?

I am still looking at him. He is sleeping with the serenity of an angel. Each trait of his, including this serenity, has complimented me perfectly. Each time he intertwined his fingers with mine, he fit the gap perfectly. The hopeless romantic in me always concluded that the Creator had crafted him only to fit into my life. It made sense. It seemed perfect. He was never just the lover. He was the 'love' in my life itself.

His brow now appears slightly creased. Is that a bead of sweat trickling down the shadowed part of his face? As if in a fit, his whole body just jerked. I quickly crept closer to him, and held him in a reassuring embrace. A fierce embrace in fact. I know it was fierce because when I withdrew, his eyes were open. With a dizzy confusion. He looked at me, at first as if figuring out if I was real. He then managed a goofy smile on that ruthlessly handsome face of his, the smile I knew the contours of which by heart. He closed his eyes, preserved that smile, dug into my bosom, and slept.

This moment is real. As real as it can get. Tell me, should I be sad or angry? In his love, in his embrace, have I not already gotten more than my share of bliss in life? There is this sweet pain lurking somewhere in the rear corner of my heart. I cannot for sure know if its normal, but some part of me feels happy in this moment which is heralding the close of an era of love. His infinite worth has become apparent to me. I've seldom valued him more than I value him this moment. He is grand. Priceless. This is how I will forever remember him.

"I love you. I always will", I whisper softly while pressing my lips to his ear. The crease on his forehead has now disappeared. The serenity returns.

In a few moments I will wake him up.

After a few more moments, he will be gone.

And after some more moments, I will cry.

Part I- The Ending

Part II- The Premonition

Part III
The Celebration

 If this was the last hour I was allowed to spend with you, I would spend it like it was the last hour I was allowed to live. When you walk out, love walks out, life walks out. 

I was only adjusting the smile on my face when my heart gently leapt out of its place. The bell rang. He is here. My cheeks flushed red, perfectly complementing my dress.

I clicked the lock open, and peeked out, hiding my body behind the door. Clad in a black shirt and denims, there he stood, ready to massacre the hearts of a dozen females. Aah. A sigh still escapes my lips when I see him stand with that casual grace in front of my eyes. He is not any Greek God personified. He is but love and passion epitomized.

He was gazing at me. Unnervingly so.

"Hey." I said. I smiled. I calmed my racing heart down. Really? Has it really been five years of our togetherness? "You are not carrying your luggage sweetie? Left it at your apartment already?"

He pulled me out from behind the door, lightly revealing my demure frame to his eager eyes. He appraised me from  head to toe. I think I saw a hint of a smile on his face. A tired smile but.

"You look gorgeous. Much lovelier than I ever remember having seen you."

"Stop flattering me. I mean, I like it. But there, you again did not answer me directly. Where is your luggage?"

"You know you could ask me to come in first."

"Oh! Sorry! Its only excitement. Come in. Make yourself comfortable."

He walked in straight towards my bedroom, only pausing near the table in the living room for a brief second to place on it a pretty red rose. My Valentine's gift. The one I had always liked. It was the only luggage he carried, hitherto hidden behind his back. I see his body disappear into my room. I stand frozen for a second, a little perplexed. Closing the main door, I pick up the elegant rose, the hues of which match precisely the tone of my dress, and proceed towards him. By now, my heart has stopped racing. It has begun to sink.

I halt at the door of my room, and lean against it. Seated at the edge of my bed, facing away from me, I can tell he has worry writ large over his face. He is staring at the floor with a burning fierceness. He looks up. Its only confusion, painful confusion he sees in my eyes.

"I am going back by the evening flight. In about two hours, I leave."

He takes a deep breath, averts his gaze, and continues. "This is it. My father wants me back there. He has wielded contacts to find me a job, and expects me to marry a girl of his choice next year. He wants me to settle down and be with him and ma."

An even greater sigh. "Angel, I won't be coming back."

He returns his gaze to meet mine. His deep, expressive eyes are moist. I feel pain. I feel an even greater urge to lessen his pain.

I walk up to him and tousle his hair while he sits still, looking down in an emotion I reckon as guilt. He curls his arms around my waist and presses his face against my belly. I can feel his tears permeating my dress, touching not my skin, but defying gravity and racing up to hide away in my heart.

I don't cry. I smile. I know I am his strength. I have been, for long. I keep still for a while.

I then withdraw, sit down on my knees with my hands in his lap. I look up at him. Again, I smile.

"We knew this had to happen. We did. We loved each other, but we promised not to hurt our parents."

He keeps mum. He keeps looking at me, but remains mum.

I look deeper into his eyes.

"For the next two hours, you are mine."

Our eyes are now locked in an intense gaze. Not breaking it even for a moment, he supports my shoulders as we both stand up facing each other. An inaudible "Love you" escapes his dry but luscious lips. I draw closer to him, burying myself in his chest. His labored breathing becomes all the more palpable in the rhythm of his heart. He lifts my face up, perfectly accommodating my slightly plump cheeks in both of his palms. I cannot stand the heat of his gaze. I close my eyes. The next moment, I can feel his soft lips on mine. One of his hands reaches the zip of my gown, the ease of unfastening which, I always suspected, was what made him buy it in the first place. In a swift motion, my gown slips off and collects in a heap near my feet. He knows I turn shy. He draws me closer in his embrace and enters the coziness of the blanket to escape the prickly Delhi cold. He also does this to hide me away from the prying eyes of the fan, the wall and the mischievous mirror.

What began as an eagerly anticipated Valentine's was fast culminating into a final celebration of love. 

 

(Part IV-The Last Song- last of the four parts, coming up soon)

Part I
The Ending

Loving you is irrevocably drugging myself to a form of living I know I can spend my life in. Loving you is living.  

Few not so bright rays of sun manage to percolate through the thick oriental curtains on the window to rest on the left side of his face. Penetrating the aquatic blueness of the window tresses, they fall on his face like luminous ripples of water. I gaze at him. I sigh.

He lies on his back, covered upto his chest in the soft, velvety blanket I share with him. The blanket protects what we seek to share only with each other from the curious eyes of the fan, the walls, and the mischievous mirror. I plant a careful kiss on his glistening shoulder. I then draw out from the blanket.

I do not intend to get away from him. Having savoured him in every other possible way, I now wish to savour him through my eyes. I lift myself up, leaning on my elbow, and cast the most loving gaze at him. My lips instantly register that same smile he described as the sexiest curve of my body. I smile imagining things, both pleasant and forbidden.

Oblivious to my shenanigans, he sleeps. Peaceful, calm, radiant. I am sure he is dreaming. Dreaming about us. I can feel him sigh behind his closed eyes.He is definitely dreaming about us. It is easy to read him. It was easier to have fallen in love with him. Almost instantly. Like a sudden revelation.

Half of his face is playing host to the mild rays of the distant sun. The serenely illuminated countenance of his is reminding me of his admirably illuminated inner self. The other half of his face bears a shadow of his own features, reminiscent of the protective shade he has been nurturing me in for so long. His perfectly chiseled, smooth shoulders give but a peek into the majesty that he is. His right arm, so far a pillow for me, is now lying with a casual grace on the softness of the blanket. He is perfect. His aura is perfect. But soon, it'll all be gone.

 

(Part II- The Premonition, coming up soon)

"At the end of love there is unloving, when you can engage in the ceaseless hunt for all those things to be taken out, and somehow discarded, when you can fight against the new roads and try, futilely, to return to what you were before." -Page 180, Another Chance.

Much thought goes into deciding the title for a book. No matter what genre, what subject, what type a book, a title is supposed to provide just enough peek into a book's soul, without revealing too much about it. It is your first impression of the book, and in case of novels, fiction novels such as the one I am attempting to review, the title of the book is supposed to hold the story together, even guide the reader when he feels lost about the direction the book will take after the next turn in the story. Ahmed Faiyaz's Another Chance boasts of a title which is precise and perfect. It encapsulates the very essence of the book in a mere two words- Another Chance. To a romantic's heart (read:me) these two words are almost a philosophy. In Ahmed's novel, they are a simple expression of the desire which harries many a unlucky-but-still-in-love hearts. The Desire For Another Chance.

The plot of the book revolves around a single girl-Ruheen Oberoi, described by the author as a depressingly gorgeous woman in the prelude to the novel. She is a hep, free spirited girl, sought after girl, brought up by an indulging grandfather, who lost her parents when young. Aditya Sharma, Ruheen's enduring lover, a young corporate trying to make his mark, is the second protagonist in this novel. His commitment to Ruheen is almost dreamlike- but much comes in the way of consummation of their love. A string of men enter Ruheen's life at successive junctures- A politician's son and Ruheen's obsessive stalker-Vishal, Ruheen's childhood friend with feelings for her-Varun, and then Ruheen's good-for-nothing, abusive husband-Rohan. Luck, as is guessable, does not favor Ruheen's relationship with any. At a young age, battered by the chicaneries of life, Ruheen gives up hope for finding love and comfort in a man's arms, when Aditya re-enters her life. However, love, as we know it, is not a simple road to tread on. It comes with its own complications, its own compulsions, its own tests. Will Ruheen finally find happiness? Does love deserve a second chance? Is the human heart, with all its weaknesses, a sound guide to consult while making life altering decisions? All this, and more, you ponder as you flip through the pages of Another Chance.

After Love, Life & All That Jazz... it is the second book by Ahmed Faiyaz that I am reading. Like the earlier one, this too has done a decent job of providing me a good, entertaining, and moving story which is not too heavy and easy to relate with. Having read these two books, I can conveniently say, that Ahmed does fabulously when it comes to painting close-to-home, real life characters. While in the last book, what could have been three independent stories were intertwined in the narrative, here it helps to have just one rather simple story to follow and focus attention on. Simple, but replete with exciting twists and turns.

It took me about quarter to four hours to read the book, and I am by no means a fast reader. It is much like a bollywood romance, which engages, touches, entertains, and leaves you with happy tears in the end. Do not pick this book to satisfy the literary critic in you. Pick this book for catching some fresh air, a simple break from your otherwise ridden-with-anxieties life. As I said, not heavy duty stuff in this book. An easy, light read, whose climax builds up like that of a mushy, romantic flick. When during the course of the book you start sharing the agony of the character and get desperate for them to achieve happiness, you know that the writer has succeeded in casting his spell on you- in binding you together with the narrative. I have a proclivity towards falling for nicely narrated romances. This one gets 3 on 5 stars from me for primarily two reasons. First is its ending- they way it builds up, gives you hope, then perturbs you, then leaves you with fond tears. Second is for the author's handling of human emotions- their gullibility and resilience- and for his treatment of the dynamics of a new age, urban relationship. The narrative of the books shifts between many locations, Indian and foreign- and the screenplay like storytelling makes it conveniently possible to imagine vividly the characters and their setting. If you read with as much passion as I do, you'll lose yourself to the story. And in my view, that is how one should read to draw maximum satisfaction from a book.

I cannot end this review without mentioning the brilliant cover portrait of Bruna Abdullah which almost brings Ruheen's character alive in front of your eyes. Her expression on the cover was the first thing that made me want this book. For all of you wanting to a read a little mature and not an utterly cheesy romance with no load, do remember to pick this up on your next trip to a book shop.

I was asked a few days back by someone to recommend romantic novels which make for a heart warming read. I don't know what all names I blurted out under the assumed pressure of answering quick, but the question stuck by in my head for a decently long time there after. When I answered it for myself, I spotted five romantic books distinctly embedded in my memory which by far have been the best I have stumbled upon. Since romance as a literary genre encompasses a lot, I will specify that what I am about to share with my readers today are 5 of the best 'Love Stories' I have read, which I strongly recommend to you all as well. An important caveat, before I share my favorites, is that my reading habits are not the best around. I mean, I read a lot, but according to some literature aficionados, I read crap. Anyway, I often fall in love with even what is otherwise condemned as crap. So, not sticking to any stereotypes, from a wide variety of sub-genres- here are 5 love stories which conversed straight with my heart and whose essence flowed out through tears in my eyes.

#1 Olivia and Jai by Rebecca Ryman 

Historical Fiction, I guess.

I found this book in a dusty, dingy corner of my college library. Picking it up on instinct, I could never even have imagined what an emotional rigmarole this book had planned to offer me. Set up during the earlier years of British Raj in India, this story, if I remember correctly, is the tale of two lovers haunted by a long history of family rivalries. Olivia, an American tourist in India and Jai Raventhorne, a local born of an Anglo-Indian union have nothing in common save an inherited animosity. However, they find themselves irresistibly drawn to each other and soon their attraction metamorphoses into passion. This passion is not only evident in their love, but also in their actions of vengeance on each other. To see the plot unravel, fluctuating between love, passion, animosity and revenge is a thrilling experience. Someone from you please remind me to read this book again :)


#2 The Twilight Series by Stephenie Meyer
Fantasy fiction- Romantic fiction
Enough had been said and heard about this book. You can look down upon me for all I care, but I am in love with Edward Cullen, as much as I am in love with Bella Swan's character. Stephenie Meyer has constructed a scintillating plot, playing marvelously on an average girl's insecurities and an her dreams of a perfect lover. I have read the whole series twice over, and I will not shy away from burying myself in those familiar pages again when the depression of our 'practical' existence (the practicality even extending to matters of heart) becomes too much to handle.


#3 Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Literary Classic
Need I say anything about this epic love tale which females of all age, around the world have read, and reread and romanticized over and over again? The story of unconsummated passion between Cathy and Heathcliff is a saga in its own self. The narrative of this book is not all flowery, but very dark, almost progressing like a mystery. Perhaps that is why this book was met with censure at first, but over the years has acquired ascendancy among romantic classics. Heathcliff is a character  immortalized in our memory, as that dark and intense hero- capable of passion, and capable of destruction too. Sigh. The wonderful Yorkshire moors. The intense yet unresolved passion. I feel the book is calling me again.


#4 I Too Had A Love Story by Ravinder Singh
Romance

Now, do not judge me for this. I read a lot of new age, commercial Indian literature (if we can call it that), and this book is by far the best I've come across in this genre. Ravin and Khushi, the protagonists of this novel, are the couple next door. The way their love progresses, their sweet murmuring, their first encounters, their brewing passion- everything in this book is painfully relatable. And when you (especially if you are like me) start identifying so much with the incidents and characters in the book, the climax has the potential for leaving you depressed for hours after. I, in fact, found myself wailing. The fact that it is believed to be the author's own story makes the read all the more emotional. Now, the sequel of this story has hit the market. Can Love Happen Twice? I got my copy today. Hell yes I am excited!

#5 Abhijnanashakuntalam by Kalidasa

Sanskrit Classic
Yes, it is an odd inclusion in this list, but for my UPSC preparations, I have gone through most of Sanskrit dramas, prose and poems. 'Erotic' (Shringaar) is the main element of most of the great Sanskrit works, and though I fell in love with a lot of love stories narrated by the likes of Magha, Bana, Bharavi and others, Abhijnanashakuntalam clearly stood out as the most amazing. It is a simple tale of love between King Dushyant and an ashramkanya, Shakuntala. On a hunting expedition, Dushyanta stumbles upon Shakuntala, falls in love, and their love in consummated in a simple Gandharva wedding. Crisis strikes when Dushyanta returns to his Capital City and forgets Shakuntala and their love under the influence of a curse from Rishi Durvasa. Kalidasa weaves a string of some exquisite verses detailing how the two lovers overcome the hurdles created  by Providence's chicanery. Trivia- India, Bharat, is said to have derived its name from Shakuntala and Dushyanta's son- Bharata.

I am all pepped up and reading a lot many books these days. Though I am in a mood for experimenting with different genres at present, I shall return to the trusted romances soon. Just as an concluding thought, I never find a story complete till it does not have an adequate doze of romance in it. A love story, may be as a secondary narrative always does its bit in keeping me hooked onto a novel, no matter which genre it belongs to. Hopefully, I will come up with another list of my favorites, really soon. Till then, keep reading!

Moist pearls tickle my toes

Smell of dew runs up my nose

Bare feet nudging at rich wet grass,

Droplets reflecting the sheen of stars

Eyelid touched by a rainy cue

My lips curve at the magic of dew.

The darkest hour enchants like a spell,

Dawn crawls in with a musty smell.

Morning bliss derived from that,

Nighttime's glow in the nature's lap.