wet evening, untimely silence
maybe sweep away the
blooming emotion,
in the edge
of your
soulful eyes, there's a floating -
island of beautiful dreams,
I know, from that point
of estuary nobody
comes back,
that's the
mystic
path of subterranean grace, the
life, at last mingles with the
bottomless waves, and
forgets its own the
true color - -
* *
- SHANTANU SANYAL
http://sanyalsworld.blogspot.in/
