Christable Anon started with a riddle that she was told, is a poem when she was in class III as sudden as one mad afternoon menstrual start. And then she realized she has to walk miles with words. She ventured impulsively, honestly, true to the sensibilities of her surrounding, and unaware of time and event she grew up along with her poetry. Works here are evidences of her makeover; few dedicated few self-explanatory.
You will not find poetry anywhere unless you bring some of it with you. Joseph Joubert
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Grief on Stilettos
The blue eyed lamps look down at me when i walk alone the Dark Street... The wind plays the fingers on my ear-bones... .... ..... ..... I turn my eyes behind to find a shadow stalking Grief on high heels.