Rings of Smoke

Where shall the word be found, where will the word | Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence

plastic flowers

rain streaks the windowpanes, making crisscrossing lines, much like the furrows, on your forehead, remember the day, nineteen butter flies came to our room, thirty seven blazing yellow suns, painted on thirty eight black wings, fluttering,feathery,soft, balls of fire streaking across the room, there was one that sat on your dressing table, worrying your perfume, [...]

  • About The Line under the Blog Name

    The lines generally are from some poem which I have, at some point of time or the other, loved. I do not mean, by including them, to be snotty or pretentious- but I would love it if you could identify the lines, and take much joy if you were interested enough to search them and read the original poems. If not- you can ignore them.

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