Thursday, 12 September 2013

The sweet scent of the bosom

The tiny trivial tales
tinkle like gales
tangled with the myth.

                                        His voice cracks
in the other end of the cable.
and I could hear her
melodious silent words wandering in the background.

We giggled and chuckled
choked with charms
from the same plate.

                                    Chaoba dreams in her hostel in China.
Amo breathes nine ranges of hills away from home.
                                    Echal lies at the bosom decorated with lonesome.

I look to my right,
Turn to the left.
But I see them none.
Only books in tons.


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