Sunday, November 06, 2005

another short one

A few lines about growing old. Its nothing important but still it is…

in my palmsi seemyself witheringnot like a beautiful flowerbut like an old riverslowly drying upexposing the innumerable wrinkleson my bodyeach one of them for a loverlost back in time...

4 comments:

wasted said...

ok guys i am bad at this posting bussiness, so plz ignore the spaces that should be there
the poem is like,
in my palms,
i see myself
withering
not like a beautiful flower
but like an old river
slowly drying up
exposing the innumerable wrinkles
on my body
each one of them
for a lover
lost back in time...

uglygirl said...

aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!
youre back!!!!
and this is wonderful.
love you toh!
i meant back on wasted.
are you back in hyd too?

Siddharth said...

the wind carries it
from tree to tree
my lament
swells with the day
shrinks to my toe
at night
I pay all the due attention
to an ant left
by that black trickle
on a white wall

YOUR WRITING FORCED ME TO WRITE;
THATS THE BIGGEST COMPLIMENT FOR A WRITER, I BELIEVE

wanda1234 said...

thanks for sharing....


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