In the utterly quiet
are heard tiny wings.
Food uncovered,
or flowers.
Hearts and stomachs
They spasm. Tight.
Bees make honey,
Flies make disease.
This is love.
Some sweetness,
some lack of ease.
Poem: Time that flies
Filed under Random Links
HMMMMM!
capt ajit vadakayil
.
Girl,
I still hear ‘sau mein sattar aadmi’ and dream about that wind-tossed evening in Mumbai. The sea was in through our windows.
I’m 46 btw. Gonna be 47 in May. How many memories can this head endure?
Thank you very much for the very interesting and informative post. Keep posting . Waiting for more. All the best