Its all a circle. A perfect circle.
No its a hole.
Its a heart.
Its an umbrella. A hand.
Its a hand within a hand.
Its the rainbow.
No its not.
Its the smell of fish frying.
Its the splash of your chappals, stop it.
We'll have twins,like our blue bata chappals.
Shut the curtains.
Its 8:30, I have to leave.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
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nice poem
ReplyDeletecircle or hole