In the utterly quiet
are heard tiny wings.
Hearts and stomachs
They spasm. Tight.
Bees make honey,
Flies make disease.
This is love.
some lack of ease.
capt ajit vadakayil
I still hear ‘sau mein sattar aadmi’ and dream about that wind-tossed evening in Mumbai. The sea was in through our windows.
I’m 46 btw. Gonna be 47 in May. How many memories can this head endure?
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