27/10/2009, Tuesday...
I wrote a line on a page..
I wrote a page on a line..
The line wasn't mine..
so i scribbled that sign..
The words that i tied down..
wanted to be set free..
The lines that i strangled..
wanted to breathe again..
The throes of the nubile words..
The pangs of that scribbling pen..
who under that ornery hand..
blotted the spawning azureness into sand..
Those hands were a little greasy..
That heart was a little queasy..
That carnal stupor of a lunatic waif..
isn't always safe..
that isn't always safe..
I don't know what 've i written and why 've i done that. I don't know if anyone can ever interconnect my sporadic thoughts.I don't know if someone will ever try to. But do i care ?? ... i never did... and i still don't...
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8 comments:
I loved it! had to check wordweb for some meaning though :P
The title to the poem is deep and made me think about it. way to go!
thanks.. i wasn't expecting anyone to comment on that.. there are things which people can't even relate to, but at times they are very close to your heart.. nice to hear that you made something out of it..
:)
u knw, despite u claiming u donno what u've written, whatever u've written, is good.
hehe..
thanx for that..
That carnal stupor of a lunatic waif isn't always safe..
Amazing..i wonder how you came up with this ..
thanx yar..
that line certainly doesn't deserve this adjective man..
Very nice...
thanks dear...
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