Veranazarian Stories

A cool zephyr soughs from the west ,bristling the cheeks of a young poet.To the horizon the ivory rays of the setting sun trace their vigour at his rheumy eyes.Poignant memories reflect on his forlorn countenance;memories of lost love,memories of good old days,some to painful to commemorate.Clutching a pen and a piece of paper,the memories drain from the ink,spilling to the paper,to the world.Nostalgic memories.