Analog clock eats
the time, hour,
minute, second hands
push minutes into its face,
devouring moments
like a baby her finger food.
the time, hour,
minute, second hands
push minutes into its face,
devouring moments
like a baby her finger food.
Me
- Basit
- Son, Mallu, Expeditionist, Whimsical Blogger, Pseudo Poet, Haiku thirst, Literaly anti-literal, Foodie, Coffee & PinkFloyd addict. floating bewilderedly through space-time continuum !
Popular Posts
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i hav found dis sms in ma fon..i recall d day u sent me..on dat eve,in jan07 :( One day ull ask me : whats more important to u me or ur life...
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my mind, poached its yolk spilling out into a void; past mirrored hallways, grey reflections of words are chained to my tongue
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I wake to an inky night paper beckoning with white angel wings waiting windsail words I fly to meet my thoughts.
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No one likes to talk about forgiveness, because for most people I think it has a religious connotation. But the dictionary definition of “fo...
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I Cant Get u out of Ma head No Matter how i try I Still luv u Even when u make me Cry I want u in ma Arms I want u to be Mine But u don'... -
Will I ever be the same againWill I ever get past all these liesWill I ever open my eyesAnd see that you are nothingNothing but liesWill I e...
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* To fall in love. * To laugh until it hurts your stomach. * To find mails by the thousands when you return from a vacation. * To go for a v...
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Nobody knows why dat little girl cries Nobody knows why She as so much pain in her eyes Nobody knows why She wears long sleeves to cover her... -
We’re all just waiting to be found but before anyone gets the chance, we’ve gone and hid in another layer of ourselves.
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The folds in his eyelids of memories restrained each lash keeping a secret of what couldn't be undone.
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