So, i am going to write a little about the arrived Monsoons in the city..
Not a poem.. because Monsoon's nauseated with poetry.
yet with every wet step, dark clouds gather and in my heart what was lifted, drops back again..
yes, it is the same recluse memory again that makes me love everything about monsoons... or else i couldnt see it.
may be it is... my own neurosis. :)


Now you're telling me ....You're not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it ...You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague

Because I need some of that vagueness now, It's all come back too clearly
Yes I loved you dearly
And if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid

Joan Beaz & her song for Dylan...