There once me stood
Looking at you
Getting wet
By the breezy monsoon late,
The umbrella yours,
Colored such,
Had got blown away
Like songs of March,
Only a poem mine
Sheltered us...
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The State Funeral
At least they have given her The State Funeral With tongue cut, She could not have spoken for The rare award, The police have done the th...
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Lord As a pianist whence Fully one fills a sense... An evening thinks perhaps it proper To become a starry night's divine lover... ...
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Once the sculpted face Fell and with it fell Our pride Our demons We made love after that By the sides of our past. (For 'Magp... -
For the last few days... They are not talking... They just listen together-songs... Not songs proper even-some kind of music, instrument...
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