Every time I write
The phantoms of the present
Pluck my eyes till tears flood,
Peel my flesh off till I rot,
Twist my throat till I croak,
Scoop my soul from the swilring mist of love and agony
Shredding it to insignificant pieces...
The deep red secrets
Bared and revealed
Raped amd mutilated.
Oh! The humiliation of being naked...
Clothe me I plead.
I shall write no more
Till my phantoms are exorcised.
The clusters of joy as they cling to each other,the innocence of the blue that hints of the spring that's on its way....University Flower Show,2007
The Angels and The Demons craze....try turning it the other way round!!never got to figure out though how to create an ambigram!!:(
Faith still burns on....and burns together....the flicker of collective hope that we saw burning at the Buddhist Monastery at the Kashmiri Gate,Delhi.
Coffee and intellectualism???....the lines come fast though when you have the capuccino steaming in your hand...!
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