India isn't much of a poet (snigger).. more like sporadically possessed with words that flow only in poem form.
What follows here is the result of a nights dream and daylights hope -
I dream of red and gold,
Dances of shades that i've never seen,
A shimmer of silver in the pale blue sky
That came to me in the blackness of sleep.
Leaves of silver, pieces of bottle green,
Colours of the wind,
And purple depths of layered seas,
Drape the bare skin that clothes me.
A gypsy, a gypsy
Without a caravan,
Ready in skirts that flirt with her feet.
2 comments:
where's part 1?
hi anon,
Haven't found Part 1 yet among india's papers.. it'll turn up when it wants i guess and i'll post it.
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