When love is the traveller man and woman turn into road, memory-leaves grow into trees decorating the wayside, and hearts, often, stumble over rocks. When love is the traveller words toil and moil without a minute’s rest while meanings stand frozen, flowers are reborn with sanctity and blind faith becomes the soil… When love is the traveller you and I ...
When love is the traveller man and woman turn into road, memory-leaves grow into trees decorating the wayside, and hearts, often, stumble over rocks. When love is the traveller words toil and moil without a minute’s rest while meanings stand frozen, flowers are reborn with sanctity and blind faith becomes the soil… When love is the traveller you and I ...
“I am not the remedy for your madness” she says disdainfully, looking blankly at her screen. “Yes, You are only the madness” I would reply. Then, all the moments of doubt and fear and anxiety transform into a speck of dust that gets disappeared (easily) in the process of trespassing. Love starts flapping its wings at inauspicious ...
“I am not the remedy for your madness” she says disdainfully, looking blankly at her screen. “Yes, You are only the madness” I would reply. Then, all the moments of doubt and fear and anxiety transform into a speck of dust that gets disappeared (easily) in the process of trespassing. Love starts flapping its wings at inauspicious ...
The child in me still believes that every moon is something to cry for. The child in me still thinks every wall that has rough edges is a sign of protection. The child in me wants to say every padlocked moment is safe and unbreakable. The child in me likes to paint every heart-shaped object ...
The child in me still believes that every moon is something to cry for. The child in me still thinks every wall that has rough edges is a sign of protection. The child in me wants to say every padlocked moment is safe and unbreakable. The child in me likes to paint every heart-shaped object ...
The child in me still believes that every moon is something to cry for. The child in me still thinks every wall that has rough edges is a sign of protection. The child in me wants to say every padlocked moment is safe and unbreakable. The child in me likes to paint every heart-shaped object in ...
The child in me still believes that every moon is something to cry for. The child in me still thinks every wall that has rough edges is a sign of protection. The child in me wants to say every padlocked moment is safe and unbreakable. The child in me likes to paint every heart-shaped object in ...
Flirting is taxonomy where classification is needed for definition. Flirting is the age old game where seeker seeks seeking and hider hides hiding.. Flirting is heart’s assertion that rules are made to be broken… Flirting is imprisonment that is soft and freedom that is hard… Flirting is the only signature to every conversation that never ...
Flirting is taxonomy where classification is needed for definition. Flirting is the age old game where seeker seeks seeking and hider hides hiding.. Flirting is heart’s assertion that rules are made to be broken… Flirting is imprisonment that is soft and freedom that is hard… Flirting is the only signature to every conversation that never ...
Life has changed since the day it first rained. You’ve poured yourself into all my words like milk into early morning coffee. I’ve become the ‘player’ who’s hurt, but not yet retired who keeps playing on and playing out. I see the world in fragments for my imagination has run out of colours and dreams have ...
Life has changed since the day it first rained. You’ve poured yourself into all my words like milk into early morning coffee. I’ve become the ‘player’ who’s hurt, but not yet retired who keeps playing on and playing out. I see the world in fragments for my imagination has run out of colours and dreams have ...
Meditation is waiting between one smile and another and staying aloof from words and love-chronicle. Meditation is being still between eye and eye that gaze the gaze of affection, without rush frailty and insecurity. Meditation is tied hair, neatly combed and carefully kept, without giving way to occasional mischief and frill that necessitate breaking of silence. ...
Meditation is waiting between one smile and another and staying aloof from words and love-chronicle. Meditation is being still between eye and eye that gaze the gaze of affection, without rush frailty and insecurity. Meditation is tied hair, neatly combed and carefully kept, without giving way to occasional mischief and frill that necessitate breaking of silence. ...
In this hour of departure you knit all my scattered thoughts into a carefully worded text - which I will promptly save in my messy heart-folder with many other drafts… In this hour of departure you inadvertently become all the soft things on earth - like, the breeze of Marine Drive the flowers of Peradeniya and raindrops on Galle Fort ...
In this hour of departure you knit all my scattered thoughts into a carefully worded text – which I will promptly save in my messy heart-folder with many other drafts… In this hour of departure you inadvertently become all the soft things on earth – like, the breeze of Marine Drive the flowers of Peradeniya and raindrops on Galle Fort ...
There will be another day and another time for us to deceive ourselves with love and fear to prefer dream over reality to differentiate smile and tear with the closest approximation of words to rediscover solitude and vanish between soft melodies and interludes into silence and to return with heart’s long lost signatures at inconvenient times. Not now, ...
There will be another day and another time for us to deceive ourselves with love and fear to prefer dream over reality to differentiate smile and tear with the closest approximation of words to rediscover solitude and vanish between soft melodies and interludes into silence and to return with heart’s long lost signatures at inconvenient times. Not now, ...
“Let our time be filled with a merry song” for there is always a fingertip to press the No button and end my search for you, to halt poetry and the mad rush of words, to stop the traffic of timelines and roll back years, freely, to the point where you and I were unknown particles of dust at different ...
“Let our time be filled with a merry song” for there is always a fingertip to press the No button and end my search for you, to halt poetry and the mad rush of words, to stop the traffic of timelines and roll back years, freely, to the point where you and I were unknown particles of dust at different ...
