Sunday, July 25, 2010

Untitled.

She wrote a hundred songs
and woke a hundred mornings
She lived and wept, died a little each date
She waited for the turnaround of fate
She had no reason
nor any rhyme
Yet she danced to the tunes of a long bygone song
She longed for him to come and see
She longed to be set free.

Best,
Gargi