i write sonnets on the papyrus and make tiny paper-gliders out of them.
they are carried into the unknown, inside that dark alley beyond which grows hope's tree.
your tree.

i hum the soft melody.
your tune races,runs behind the flying wishes,blowing them onwards.
these wishes,my flying wishes.


my voice, i feel, is heard; 
my writ,i know, read.



Comments

  1. As long as you continue to write, winds will always guide travelers to the writers guild. And you'll be read.

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  2. my god...u are turning into a serious n asli waala poet with depth to drown for;-)
    beautifully expressed...as always...
    may the winds keep bringing u the inspiration:-)

    ReplyDelete

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