These are but vain attempts to express, by one who wears her heart on her sleeve. Words, much like love, can be ever elusive... ever frustrating... like trying to paint a million stories on a single canvass. If you will read, please do not ask. Just feel. Or at least try to. The meaning is, whatever you have felt to be there, or the lack thereof :)

Futility

 
Enough. There is no mystery.
Only the reality of a prickly thorn.
Forget the rose and its promised sweetness.
An inducer of bitterness is what it has become.

Arise. Depth is but a trick
In the changing shadows of the aquamarine sea..
There’s nothing profound ‘bout an emerald iceberg –
An adamantine knife devoid of poetry.


10th February 2002
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