I am the crippled fingers clinched as a fist to pray. I am the frailing hand that never betray. I am the voice chanting at a grave. I am the tomorrow that never came. I am the moon of a planet. I am the hymn from your clarinet. I am the night in you slept.…

when a year seem too long and starts to haunt – think of the falling leaf month, the chilly winter january, the bright leaves of spring. when a month seem too long and the future dreary – think of the floating clouds on a blissful day, the morning cuckoo singing a hymn to thee, the…

Once you were the voice of a mother, Valiant proclamation of a lover. Withered walls have forgotten words, In their dwellings hang bloodied swords. A solitary savage woman utters thy name, Few are left to stem them. Language you are a necessity still, For linguistics to decipher buried civilization underneath. Language, an expression of our…