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Comments about Amogh Borkar
A hesitant finger touches a key.
For long years, have the hands seemed
Silent for eternity.
Two streams of thoughts run past.
Which was that profound next key?
Until you begin to hear
the ghost of a faint melody.
Then it comes rushing back,
Like a wisp of wind.
Like a roaring Himalayan stream.
And at that moment
the flame burns the brightest,
Thousands of memories rush back.
As the twain unite.
This flame never burns out
It is only the lantern that gathers dust