I always love painting the fort when I am not in Gwalior, rough pen drawings encircle a lingering legend, and thoughts of you do stay with it as always. The fort within is a river turbulent when skies remain unseen and suns have long drowned; summers have balked to rebel torsos, even before I had left. And I think of you just as I think of breathing in such a river. In darkness of such nights, someone whispers of longing, longing of this river to become a fort again, longing to see your eyes again in disbelief. If only another sun could rise again.
Pastel/Acrylic by Amitabh Mitra
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