be warned
I take each stone
thrown at me
and turn it
into a chip
for my mosiac paintings
no stone is wasted on me
no stone is wasted by me
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A world is built with each brick. All consuming and ever so fleeting, like brimstone.
Blog Archive
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2007
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October
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- who will throw the first stone?
- half a life
- Baawarya
- Some of us, and the verandah called art films
- Our lovers – flash fiction
- The color maroon
- ...
- Black Friday Vs. Laga Chunri mein daag
- The Exorcisms of many an Emily
- how many loves are permitted?
- a movie that impresses
- Peace vela, a non-report (of a non-day)
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October
(12)
3 comments:
And what do you do
of flowers?
of a handful of colors
borrowed from the rainbow?
I would make darts
of myriad colors
and shoot them one by one
Piercing into what
is already perforated
riddled with craters
on your love-moon?
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