When the winds blow in the mountains, they create a music with the river and leaves of deodar, oaks and pines. A man never thinks of poetry, but observes it, feels it. The words do not exist then, only music. The soul of the mountains one cannot capture in pages. I have only tried to write about the music, and a little more from elsewhere. Mountains send the winds to other places too.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
rishta
chudiyon se khanakte haath tumne thaame they ek din or kaha tha sajaye rakhna inhe neele kaanch se.
aaj bhi toh rang neela hi hai tumhe shayad nazar nahi aata ek-ek karke toot rahi hain yeh nayi le aao fir se.
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