what an evening...
a terrace...
a song...
a music player...
a song...
and one friend
with whom spent sleepless nights long...
with cups of coffee....
sheets of paper works...
Ginsberg...
To Robert Frost....
and some sweet sweet recollections...
and a sense of bond...
overwhelming...
am i not still weeping inside?
am i not again dying...inside?
am i not sinking?
are we both not...
now that the terrace is also listening...
to our silence...
our pauses....
and our talks...
our drifts...
just...
this life...
this life
a snap shot...
will it not also be stored
into the long and widened celluloid
of Life larger than that?
Good evening friends...
lets live with Only joy...
and what am i to tell you
dear Somnath?
you got my all...
my love...
my Sylvia Plath!
my dewy death...
my self assigned Path
and Isabel...
italian refuge...
and
rain coat
all over a wet soul!
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