jeudi 16 décembre 2010

Braj- Uttar Pradesh

The same old line with new eyes
breathing on the top deck
dropping shoulders
meeting newborns
Brompton cemetery

That I might be part of this. Ripple on water from a lonesome drip. A fallen tree that witnessedme. Him alone. Him and me. And that life itself could not aspire. To have someone be so admired.I threw creation to my kin. With a silence broken by a whispered wind. All of this can be broken