Sunday, 26 February 2012

Resurruction

No more loud noisy words.
Whole day whispers make a conspiracy.
Stirring life into every second.
A passing breeze just touches delicately.
With sonorous secrets from Hebrides.
It creates a resonance in the mind.
One rooted to the threshold-
Watching drying footsteps.

How does one speak of Obituary?
Have we not already risen from the sapping debris of History?

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