The room filled with wine bottles and flowers
Broken coloured glass in the glass jars
Pin wheels and a dead guitar
A flute, and a red star
I call it my place.
Hoping to get some space
In the city that does efface
And leaves no grace.
In a while, I make it my place
As I push my face
Out of the chase
And just laze
In my space
This I call my home.
This has a lovely "feel" of a poem to it and this place you speak of is truly magical. :)
ReplyDeleteWoohoo!
ReplyDeleteto hear that from nicole braganza...
i wonder why i even wrote this here...
see ya tomorrow
lets give some gyaan to bhujwalla
about poetry
:P