She is still a river,

Not just a river, 

but with loads to drown in.
She is still a thought,

A thought without an end 

that is groping,

 and tangling my heart and mind awkwardly. 

A mist of tears that leaves my eyes 


That moment, when the memories come in handy with tears; the wretched,

And some worth a smile farfetched.

Of the limb and the life,

And the unveiled part of it.
The pada we promised each other,

The shorter and further distance, we promised to walk together.
Without the panders, 

Without the political panthers.

Without diseases,

Just muses.
Ten years down the line, I’m still figuring out how to write this sanskrit line,

It makes me believe that you’re still mine.

Despite the diamonds and lucks of the devil,

thrown in my paths in tango.


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