Tuesday, December 15, 2015






1. I don't know how to break ice,
too many years have gone by cutting them into shapes.
It has been a winter too long and I am tired tracing my way back.
For now the road is my home, 
the falling snow my voice
the breeze my compass of life.
If you need to find me ever,
look beneath the snow.
There will lie my tomb.

2. Last breath of memories, 
whistles past the pines,
like some old bogies,
snaking through a forest of time, 
mist like death spreads across our eyes, 
erasing everything we ever owned,
trees like skeletons sway at a distance,
only when the clouds find their home,
we too shall return to the womb.


3. Mornings move like feathers,
floating languidly in the infant rays
that escapes the cages of time.
Leaves blink, flowers smiles,
breeze sings ragas.
The sky oozes warmth,
caressing out of the slumber,
nights that took refuge in the forest.


4. I don't want to die
may be just walk into a night and disappear
or mingle in the mist in a wintry morning.
melt into a mirror
or just sink like a shadow in a flowing river.
The process of dying is scarier than dying itself.
yet like the night and day,
all of a sudden or with a little delay,
may be aging like the fading light
I too shall die some day.

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