Thursday, 19 April 2012

The Sugar Grain


Poor me, colourless
Struck here I'm helpless
Poured in his kitchen container,
Like any other in here
I'm gonna be drunk soon

On his tongue I melt
Only there i'm felt
Oh yeah I'm sweet!
So what? Can I flee?
No! Once I surface,
with no mercy
In his hot tea,
I'm gonna be drunk soon

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I call them neither songs nor poems. You may call it whatever you want. They are just words running through my mind.

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