Wednesday, April 1, 2009


He locks away his words in the cloud that he is, swimming like his head in the sky waiting to pour down like rain in cascades. He is history in the making, struggling between hesitations and wading through life acquaintance by acquaintance. He dreams to live out his songs, embroidered with memories, thoughts and self made metaphors. He forgets like an old man looking for a lost lover. He laughs with his eyes and as his body vibrates with laughter the whole world and its occupants laugh too and crumble, but he does not even notice. And when he loves, he loves with silence and hushed endearments. He is a dream I wake up to every morning, the star I cannot reach and sometimes the light shines through him and it is like he is not there.

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