Sunday, July 6, 2014


 my own footsteps sounds afar
aloof to my own voice
when I seem distant to my own self
I look up the sky for my distant moon
somehow the distance closes 
that is both comforting and soothing
Bucking of time searing feverous..
Crimson is to apple and rubies so is to rage, blood and sunset.
But then I see a crimson rose and a butterfly fluttering to it, 
I understand that when there are hundred shades for distress there could be thousand shades for delight.


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