There are times when one feels guilty of being a soulful soul. But even when he feels that, he is living in his heart. And he will, always. A poem written with sensitivity towards its antonym.
I think it is written on us by Him, that we be dishevelled, pricked, pruned, pared and shrunk,
In all our endeavours and failures, we are hunted upon like stags.
All pure, brown and beautiful, and pregnable.
They said it right – Continue reading