Sunday, January 1, 2012

First Jan

Through  misty haze 
I gathered fragments
of a tattered me
The storm came wailing and
Blew it all and
Here I sit with a clutter of
ash half burnt

And here I love ye all
ye the desirable
ye the ugly -  ye who came
ye who went away
who loved me
and you - who didn't

I stand beautiful
under rain
The cigarette tip
still red
and till when
who cares
Between my fingers
I breathe the fragrance
of moist green grass

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