Like the mirthful raining cloud

Who never enjoy playing it.

that never settles a home,that never houses a bird,that never pats a backof the weak or feeble,that seldom explores a landmysterious, strange or unknown,that rarely builds up a duneover the valleys of lifeunder the vast stretchingdesert sky.Rather I would beThe mild autumn breezeThat fills, chills and thrillslife in many,soothes the heart of loversheals the aching…

ଲିଭି ଲିଭି ଆସେ ।ମଶାଣି ରେ ମଧୁଶାଳାତୁମେ ମୟ ତୁଳସୀ ଚନ୍ଦନେମହ ମହ ବାସେ ।।

Behind the dark veilsOf the passionate clouds,Below the bed of dry leavesFallen off the forest of youth,Between the twin bosomsOf the lonely motherhood,Before the Sun of desire risesAnd lust grips the kissing couples.

Words kill Like secret assassins.

Cow to swear, no mutton.