SIGNATURE

The Sound of Silence It cannot be heard or seen It's a sensation  That can only be felt by the mind Which is calm and serene Memory Lane  I often take a stroll down memory lane  And loiter in the suburbs of memories Each time I visit I make minute alterations And I think this is how the memory works Abandoned Language   When words evaded me unexpectedly I devised a new language. It was as old as antiquity and As soothing as a sedative It is the language of Silence Mastered by many Practiced by some Understood by a few Dead or Alive I'm a seed that forget to sprout I've been in balmy slumber for years But I'm plant in one of my prolonged dreams Am I dead or alive? Fugitive   As the plot progressed, the discontented protagonist ran away from the story. And the readers called him a refugee  The irated author called him a fugitive

I wonder if you would like to see my once personal treasures? An old box full of petty little things  Remnants of some halcyon days which comprise Red lucky seeds and rosary peas Wrappers of chocolates got on special occasions A few postcards Notebooks that profess my tryst with humble poems And  Expired love letters among other things