Dwelling In Brain - Poem by hemu gupta
Its time to go.
crossing the lane,
or compact oneself in fixed frame,
wheather it is surreal or vain,
Its time to play,
wheather art makes you,
articulate or wise,
holding the words like flower in bouquette,
or forest flowers blooming at their own,
creating a spell or ending a game.
knowing less or more
I found me surrounded with words unlimited,
dwelling in brain.
Comments about Dwelling In Brain by hemu gupta
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You