Steal a fleeting moment from your own life; keep it at bay; come back and look at it as a stranger.You find a poem. Yes. Poetry is nothing but preserved life. Touh it: It’s your heat. Listen to it:It’s your heart beat.Feel it:It’s your ever haunting dream. You can’t hold it any longer. Pass it on.
back waters (Photo by Kishen Chandar)
embraced
a desert.
The ocean
dried up.
They didn’t find
a drop of tear
to grieve for
each other.
-Satish Chandar.M