Saturday, December 20, 2014


                geographies of genocides
winter sun

How do you meet without the touch of full stops?

The smell of travel
Places which spin in your head with their harsh sun, mild winter, icy chills,crazy colours, sombre greys....
Nightmare and dream walk hand in hand
Through alleys of paranoia and hope.

How do you talk without the gap of that which you cannot utter?

Words hover over a cup of tea
Till they end with the stroke of the clock.
They wouldn't stretch, wait, take a deep breath
Or do any other gymnastics which you might have
Wanted them to do

Different caravans..
Acknowledge, raise a lantern
Break some bread
And move on to
Different time zones, different nightmares, different dreams..

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