Sickbed 27 Open the door, let the blue sky span wide, let inquisitive scents of pedals enter my room, let the first sunlight seep through the veins of my body. In the rustling of leaves let me hear Words that greet my being … [Read more...] about Hands
sickbed
Gray day of March
The words of Rabindranth Tagore from the book Final Poems. Make me feel, cutting straight to emotion. Waking in the morning, I saw a rose in my vase, and wondered- in the cycle of ages, what force brought it to this peak of beauty, side- stepping … [Read more...] about Gray day of March