Sunday, July 12, 2009


The roads we have trod
Never become familiar
The dusts of alleys remain
Pasted on our worn out sandals
Unknown and unnamed lanes
With signs marred by graffiti
All market places have fetid smells
Cemeteries grow same crosses
Churches mere crumbling stone
People with gauzed-up faces
Meet you with whitened eyes
It's frightening to feel silent footfalls
And hear blankness of corners
As we walk past shadowy gaps
In a broad avenue of blurs
Nowhere in time nor place

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