flights 48
i.m.mersed
when the morrow breaks,
i yearn for thee.
when our Sol sets in a churning seething sea,
i get cranky for ur company.
and in between i want to hold u in my hands
and drink from thee.
is this destiny?

Nescafe.
yup. thats right...
Labels: english, indian, love, poetry, satire
1 Comments:
gud snap..this could be the "great' in the orkut!
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