Monday, March 5, 2012

From the poet's door

Time sometimes wears lazy flowing garments and walks through the muddy lane and houses with strange names. Some times it meets the old poet who is everywhere- in paper folders, cloth bags, key chains...

Some of the most beautiful lines ever penned down.. A grilled pathway and lines about the irrationality of borders..

Amidst manicured lawns, mud houses, tourists haggling over trinkets and notes of music in the air, time roams around like a stranger.

Leaves take as long as they want to fall down to the tune of the wind....Old books wait unhurriedly for a pair of eyes to reach them beyond the clouds of dust.

The cycle bells, security guards and random passers-by  move around, leaving enough space for the solitude of the painter.

May be on a sunny winter morning, the poet does move out of his clay impersonations...to take a walk through the shades of trees which made him pen down lines which drop down like tears and joy to your soul.

2 comments:

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    1. Hi,

      Thanks a lot for your lovely response. Please feel free to publish the piece. Have mailed you.

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