Friday, June 29, 2012

How I write-

And for all I know of the tragedy of a well crafted poem,
of the disheveled edges of words and sentences.
Whatever lives within me like an old tree filled of metaphors,
of longings.
Where failures lure me like the mariner's albatross.

I write again
.
In the shades of an old afternoon,
a crumpled prose resting in the gentle eyes of the beholder
opening in the dense green of a rainforest
and closing with an ocean
where shores meet.
And I have a home

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