Sunday, March 31, 2013


And then there are days,
Such as these.
When only death,
can come knocking.
To wake you up,
from your slumber.

But that too passes,
like life eternal.
The statue in you,
crumbles not.
It floats along,
on a dead sea.

It neither stinks,
nor rots.
For that, too,
life is a prerequisite.



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