Swaying golden wheat,
lingering caress of breeze,
whispers stay hidden.
lingering caress of breeze,
whispers stay hidden.
Hark! The rhythm
Hark! The rhythm. The pellet drum rattles. The dance begins. The creation, the annihilation, the fleeing in-betweens, and beyond these appar...
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The sun was nearly gone. So were the last of his passengers. That was what he thought. Driving the cab at snail-pace through city’s traffi...
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He went there. Daily. Unfailingly. His conversations, Candid, Intimate. And why not! He had Inspired That iron-man, ...
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You’re asking me The color Of A broken heart? I’d say It’s still red That is Minus The Ebullience, Vibrancy And Ex...
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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.