Saturday, September 11, 2010

STRANGER

Who stands there behind me
with an ink bottle of black
when I walk back to my monsoon
raindrops from summer hills of April
I know I lost my flower soft words
but I lost not  my monsoon
in words
Who stands there behind me
with a tree branch of shadows
when I walk back to my tiny
orange earth
far far away from islands of past
who stands there near my monsoon
like a stranger……

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