in the mist, the clouds make the
life, little bit mysterious, do
not know why, I wait
for you in the
deserted
platform, on those wet moments, the
emotion becomes the moth of
backwoods, it flies non -
stop from the wild
bloom to the
crowded
street, perhaps, one day, it'll get the
real address in the city of paper
flowers ! sooner or later,
the life will learn
the survival
amongst
the world of masks, but I trust you're
not the pseudo watercourse,
in your love exists the
real rain clouds of
monsoon.
* *
- SHANTANU SANYAL
http://sanyalsworld.blogspot.in/
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