The afternoon sun was yellow and bright but the sky had bales of white cotton clouds stacked one upon the other.The eyes were heavy with sleep amid intermittent sounds of women’s laughter from the street and metallic crow-caws.
In our childhood nap the eyes were heavy with sleep amid rhythmic sounds of pounding of rice and metallic crow-caws.
The geisha had eyes like rain. The Chairman liked them much. There was laughter in the eyes that looked the color of rain. But then they were just memoirs of a geisha. Just memoirs*
Thank God ,the whole thing is just an afternoon film on the telly.A girl sold into slavery becomes a geisha out of own volition .Being a geisha is being an artist.Thank god she is just an artist
Thank god,that makes me feel less uncomfortable below the ribs.
(*Memoirs of a Geisha-A film )