...No matter how personal it is; it’s boring like a grandma’s story. No matter how dense those emotions are packed; they are dry like the heart of a desert. No matter what flames shimmer from afar; they are cold like an Arctic winter. I am talking about my blog. And I promise, for those who follow me that I will think of a strategy to make it unboring. Or, as a minimum, I will make it personal and real once in a while...
thinking about you.
when I think about you,
the smell of sandalwoods
and foreign winds caresses my nostrils.
I feel the mist
of endless monsoons on my face.
I think of elephant rides through the river of light
where the bleeding moon hangs
from the branch of an exotic tree,
I would not know the name…
I would not know why, where and how?
I would just walk carefully
at the bank of a wide river,
against the flow, to the beginning,
hidden in the high mountains…
when I am thinking about you…
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