To move with total abandon, not to think,
No more secrets not even from one self.
To be as light as the wind,
To be like the soaring imaginations---
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Prosaic love
The writers for me have always been those who have crept into the shadows, worn Red shades in the Yellow lights, written absurd lines, made a mess of every book they signed, sung an off beat song and made prosaic love.
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