You were a storyteller
lurking on my pages
you told me your immigrant story
running through your veins
in my language
and into my blood
until I knew it by heart
in my inner verses and
it became mine
you became
and i was
(yours)
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खुले नीले आस्मां तले हवा ने अपने पंख खोले और तुम्हारी मुस्कान से चले एक राह निकली है मुझतक तुम्हारे ... -
At night at night you're not here at night at night you're not here any more than day at night you're not here no more do I dre... -
A brick is made of earth and therefore it has no independent existence. It's existence is derived from the earth itself. The brick is th...
The book which told each other or rather wrote each other
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