Thursday, March 12, 2009

The holi flames reach skywards, red flecks on black-blue.
Scorching feet, as one circles.
What is there to ask for.
What is, is perfect. What isn’t, also is perfect.
Color splashes on tar merge.
Like children’s war hoops and glee.
Just the tone, no distinctives.


Portia said...

none but ourselves can free our minds
-bob marley


Amit said...

Belated happy Holi!!:)