Nine years - One hundred and twelve books
Thousands of hours of toil
Swallowed by the ocean
Winters, summers and then it rains -
All that is clear is the subtle shift
Two broken glasses, twenty five half written poems,
Five lost ones and an empty dairy
A silent guitar
Less than three hundred and twenty dreams
six were not about you
Pictures - a lot of them
No real color. Few are black and white.
Some are faintly grey
I have a letter to post
The post box is invisible
No comments:
Post a Comment