Tuesday, May 04, 2010


What good would wings be
If you cannot feel the wind on your face?

Wings then will be just a bag of bones
Without any feather on it.

Then I am carrying a bag of bones,
I choose to name it strength.
But honestly I don't know what it is.
Possibly it's my madness.

And they are the remains of an old palace,
Melancholy is the feather.

And what about the pain, the numbness
And forgetting the forgotten?

The pain is like water,
Till the time it is on the leaf
It dazzles.

But does it not know how it hurts the eyes
Of the soul, the heart!

[A poem by Sandip and me.]

2 Comment:

Cassiopeia Rises said...

This is wonderful. Your quote from City of Angles is one of my favorite. Lovely and powerful imagery.


Anonymous said...

commenting on it after returning from a long day of work and it seems quite monotonous to me. If I re read it at some other time, in a different mood - might give a different interpretation :)

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