The roads would be empty… The lights won’t be warm The breeze will be vein the violets won’t charm Until a story is written.. in which we walk on.. where lights can be dim road can be narrow and stony The breeze-tossed hair melody in the air Trying to catch each other’s fragrance Wanting to Continue reading

You are watching yourself in doing eyes are sleeping the play is tense applaud of silence A story spun A plot woven black and white shadows In a story web you stay, run or stun How did you reach there why did you reach there why are you talking with the old and the gone Continue reading