Thursday, April 26, 2012


Different seasons of the year,
Thoughts come by and hitch across.
Some for as long as a line drawn on water,
While some like a scar on the skin.

As a hippie state of mind,
They wander inside out.
To diffuse smell of all the time
It feels like
Begone bitter a sweet child of mine.

Blank sometimes.
Sometimes with tears of smile.
And all the other times,
Like an urge to make it by,
To live again, either rectify.

 I walk with a suitcase full of them,
And travel between a mind-full generations.
Its a long way to go,
I am here sitting on a bench,
Waiting for my next train.


  1. beautifully penned Pranita :) :)

  2. Such beautiful words! So well put together! Brings out the gypsy in me!

  3. wonderful too waiting for my next train ! (:


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