Thursday, May 31, 2007


Impossible in writing,
A sun rose,
And the city awoke to a cool morning.

A prayer called
Lamp lit
What religion do you choose to follow?
Voice, oil and wax melt into the proverbial pot.
Your choice doesn't really matter anymore...

This and that.
He and his friends went out to watch the snow fall
Greetings from the hot May sun.
Foolish grin.

Just another day in the crowded city.
They know no other.
Never taken a chance,
Never given any.
Urbanization is there
And here too...Hide

The picture is uncapturable.
Improbably existing in itself.
You cannot begin to imagine.
Take it in
Breathe so you can see

Ad-jingle and autorickshaw
As the postman delivers the mail,
Somewhere in a church,
In the booths of confession,
People whisper the true stories of their lives...



Post a Comment

<< Home