Sunday, August 1, 2010


On the moving chariot of July
monsoon fills rain drops
in my feather soft dreams;
those intimidating shadows
of the past moved away
from my very own  green valley
in smoke filled clouds
with no trace of remorse
While I waited near that bamboo forest
to listen one flute,
horizon painted
a portrait in gilded autumn
I turned all over again
into one combined musical note
a fragment of earth..

No comments:

Post a Comment