a puddle
is but a hollow
of empty earth
and wasted water
like me,
a heroic hollow
of empty promises
and a mud filled soul
but a night comes
when even the puddle becomes beautiful
a night
when the moon smiles in it
i am waiting, for the night
when my moon will come
and merge in to my eyes
making me beautiful, for ever
image courtsey, gettyone.com
Born in New Delhi, India in 1980 and is a retired pessimist (still) living in New Delhi. He has Haryanvi ancestors, a Punjabi girlfriend, friends all over the world, two (or more) yet to be born children, (many) memories of (many) pet dogs and no cats ever. He holds an honours degree in English Literature from the University of Delhi and creates advertisements for paying the bills. His interests are universal, and include: living, eating, sleeping and when not sleeping, daydreaming. Other abiding interests include reading, writing, street photography, newspaper editorials, watching the moon and planning trekking trips that never materialize.
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