Unheard Melody
The hot tea sucked me back into reality, my mind rudely awakened from frequent naps. It had
recently succumbed to the habit of chasing thoughts unrelated to the topic at hand. My mind
returned: "Wasteland." I was sitting at a large wooden desk, apparently examining the
assignments of students.
"Sir, your class-time has started." A voice brought me back.
All I wanted to do was to run, and run far away! I wished I could be able to write another
"Wasteland."
I had lost my enthusiasm for teaching years ago. I was merely going through motions. I
had long given up love for Chaucer, Shakespeare, Hemingway, or Faulkner. My students had
become nameless faces in the class room and faceless names during grading time.
The day ended with the usual monotony. In afternoon I came out of college and started
walking towards the sea -- my only refuge. It was dark, so dark that I could barely see, and the
thick fog didn't help matters. It was December and the few trees were chewed by the blood
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