Yet another rain drop, but its my lens to the world.
Sweet when it rains, salty when it flows over the soil of time.
Chronicles an alluvium of nostalgia and scars.
My home in the virtual world, I fondly call it, The White Bougainvillea.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
A small bird that fluttered over my head,
Now lies in a grave - peaceful and at peace.
A flower that grew only on the peaks,
Now swings with my garland.
A joy that lay in pursuit,
Now fades in satisfaction's company.