most wretched are cradled into poetry by wrong,
they learn in suffering what they teach in song.
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
Breathless..
Treading on unknown paths, I saw the murky alley close up on me, Choking up the breath, The darkness as dark as devil himself, Grey walls streaked with blood, The smell ominous and path slippery...
1 comment:
what made you write this?
poignancy of your ink visible in this small etch!
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