Chaotic rain divulges errantly
how can this be God's poetry
it plunders like a tsunami
the Devil's masterpiece
How can this be mercy
torrent waters surge
floods creating oceans
Each rain drop becomes louder
caught in the line of fire
no escaping the bullets
tranquil peace destroyed
Peaceful melodies are lost
storms reflect unpleasant music
senseless evil heavy metal lyrics
no purpose - shouting and screaming
Doused, drenched, engulfed
suffocating - soaking strain
where is Noah and his Ark?
Will this barricade conclude
The Silent One
7 January 2016
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016
I've been waiting up late for you,
watching the clock like a featured film.
Suspense waits no longer.
Here you arrive at 12 am
with a firework's bang.
At this hour,
this is your greeting?
we need to talk....
I haven't seen you in months,
and you come barging in.
You come on so strong,
but sometimes you can be so cold.
You let me down last time you were here,
like torrents of hail and snowy hills.
Snow can be fun, though,
and you did warm me up
with hot cocoa and a blanket.
Thanks for your reviving comforts.
What I'm trying to say is
that I've missed you,
and I forgive you.
I hope you can forgive
my past as well.
I'm sorry about my negative attitude
and my disorganization.
We should go on walks more
and eat healthy meals together.
I promise I'll be kinder,
and I'll try to appreciate
all the good you offer me.
Can we now start anew?
Copyright © Juliet Ligon | Year Posted 2014
Vaporous hazy fog,
permeated by the sound
of early birds.
delivery trucks thumping,
competing as they
emit their harsh cries.
Singing the tune
of way wards movement.
Devoid of green,
this place of concrete and plastic
hums in endless reverberation.
As the feral scrounge
and the contented pray,
life echoes on.
emanating from the edge
of the world.
Dispelling the night,
unfurling with the mist,
awakening this city.
Copyright © Teagan Taylor | Year Posted 2015
Goodbye cloud that
Once held grip,
Out of your arms
I have the plan
You cannot take
I thought I needed
I don't, so bye.
My new friend
My wings are spread.
Copyright © Alexis Bennett | Year Posted 2014
In limbo, we crawl on walls
Stare into a world behind curtains
Puzzled by the ends of -October dreams
A fight to scream, no one remembers
Once December is gone
Dark illuminating stars
Will carve magic notes on trees
January comes to life!
Ones the old resolutions end
Mortal mountains ready To Bloom
Taking from the clouds of yesterday
Surrender to the ascending view
Never to gloom again........
The winds of a thousand words form a new scent
-A new year begins
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011
When she was the first to step across the threshold
I knew things were off to a good start.
Outside, dark and lowering clouds pressed in,
But inside, her beaming face made me warm all over.
I wondered if we should still go for a walk,
But she insisted, hinting that I was afraid of the stormy skies.
In no time, I shrugged on my leather jacket and we set off.
The cold winds whipped at our clothing all the way to the park,
A little raindrop spattering here and there.
It soon intensified to a downpour.
The freezing drops soaked right through her coat
And her dark braids had raindrops sliding down them,
So we ran to a pine tree, and I placed my coat on her shoulders.
My shirt was instantly drenched,
Chilling me where it touched my skin.
But I did not care.
Because I was huddling under a tree with my favourite girl
And all it took was a look at her beaming face to make my heart warm.
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013
The fog lies like a thick blanket over my city
It is gray, damp and heavy to breathe in
Grey and wet ..... gives me a headache
Morning turns to night, without any difference
I have to get the light and the sun back
Neither cat or dog will go out
I've heard about rain dance
Now I would like to take a sun dance
Will you join with me in my dance
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen | Year Posted 2013
We met in 8th grade...We became great friends and
She Dared Me To Write my First Poem January 21, 1948...we were both 16...I on January 9th and she on January 20th same year.
"I bet you can't write the second verse to this poem!" she said to me in sassy manner...
She shoves a note book page to me with a scribble in her handwriting.
The title was "I Love To Dance!"
How absurd I thought, after all, I was a "singer!"
Without hesitation I took the paper and began to write..."I'd love to be held close in your arms where only I could share all your charms..."
I followed with a few more line of "poetic bliss", to my thinking, and her respone was..."How did you do that?"
I replied, hands on hips, "Well you wrote the first so I wrote the second!"
Eloise replied in evident astonishment, "Girl, mine was from a song sheet!"
We fell out laughing as any 16 year olds would do.
Of course, I've written thousands of poems since then and I often say, "It's like breathing to me!".
My friend Eloise will be laid to rest tomorrow, March 16, 2013...Such a sad song for me. We stayed in touch over the years and often still laughed about that dare for me to write a second verse...Who knew?!
My heart is filled with the sorrow of Eloise's demise
Yet I sing still
Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2013
A whole year is over
A pregnancy of twelve months
with all the symptoms
Time is running like a marathon
The birth is started
The new year is here
again with new hope
expectations- joy and tears
Burning colorful stars
flashes in our eyes
Fireworks in the sky
like the sunlight
gives a warm pleasure
Just a few seconds
All the church bells ringing
Smile ... kisses and hugs
We are ready - we are waiting
Please welcome the newborn year
Contest Name:Hello January
Deadline:2/1/2014 12:00:00 AM
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen | Year Posted 2014
A Poem to love
To day I am placing here a great Hindi poem of a renowned poet
Translated by me as a poem which I hope would touch your mind
And heart intensely.
From the day I read this poem in between a play its wordings
Have touched me very deeply.
Since the poem is a beautiful piece of poetry by a great Indian
Hindi writer, poet, dramatist and story writer I am trying to
Bring its translation as much I could make from my mind without
Claiming that this is the best.
Brief background story for poetry soup lovers to judge the poem
In light in the light of its real beauty:
The heroine who was in the age of sweet sixteen was in love
With someone very intensely, but his actual lover ask her to
Show her love for someone else for obtaining a greater result
For the sake of his motherland and the heroine tries to love
Some one else, who asked a price for the same and gave only
Pains and agonies to her. But, when she sees her actual love
Her hearts is willing to welcome him and how- you will see
In this beautiful poem:
Translation of the poem of Jai Shanker Prasad a great Hindi poet.
Jaishankar Prasad (January 30, 1889 – January 14, 1937),
one of the most famous figures in modern Hindi literature
“Intoxicated by the wine of youth, in the age of sixteen
She cared only to love
And to whom she should give her heart,
She had no desire to know
And the one to whom she sold her precious heart,
Was asking a price for the same
The greedy even took away
The only treasure of pains and memories from her
She felt dusty storms were rising in her heart
And her love was coming totally unaware,
She thought to sprinkle water running from her eyes to
Make the path slippery
So that her love may walk slowly
And she may behold her love, a little more
The longing of her life may get fulfilled
And her hopes may get a base to stay a little more
She knew all the steams of the world would be running from her eyes
Making it more difficult to recognize her face
As the deep sea in her eyes would be splashing water on her face”
Only translation is made by me and the poem in Hindi belongs to
Late Jai Shanker Prasad.
Kanpur India 29th January 2010
Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010
If these eyes shall become blinded, and if this
hair shall come to be combed thinly and grey;
No, it would not be the end of the world.
I would still see beauty therein this world through
the songs of Crickets and Feathered Songsters.
The breeze would yet whisper and trees still dance.
I would yet smell the freshly bloom of Spring.
I'd still endure Summer's sweltering heat.
I'd yet feel Autumn's leaves crunch 'neath these toes.
I'd still long to be fireside with Winter.
Disabled or not, perhaps I'd yet walk
therein wonderful imagination.
How I'd be forever young at heart!
Then just as one journey came to an end,
I'd indeed greet another with a smile.
Copyright © Anthony O. Mitchell Jr. | Year Posted 2013
While granules from past season’s flakes
thaw the impatience of my own caprice
amidst the restlessness of mid-winter,
clay gathers new fragrance of tangy moss.
Back at one, infant stars bequeath light
upon clouds resting on a drape of reverie,
the music of firstborn days stirring the wake
of garnet’s ardour with time’s new dial---
a little fiery perhaps---as opposed
to the acrid taste of a cycle’s old debris.
My January, you cuddle the balm of my fortitude
in your arms streaked with breathing hope,
to nurse the fertile seeds of renewal
with ovules so despicably beautiful
that moonlit fireworks glaze steadily
on night’s eyes, grounding my balance
with acceptance that trials and love
come from same flame: how this moment
must be relished in praise of fresh dowry…
Call me home instead and warm my skin
as I roam with you, my January,
fulfilling my quest’s return to a patient self...
the kind which blesses fire and ice.
Hello January Contest
by nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
as the nights morning within
its coldest grasp woke us
as her sleep interrupted
thoughts of the warmer blast
Copyright © James Peranteau | Year Posted 2014
Its been a long time
Since I've seen you last
Beginning the new year off
Is what makes you even more special
Along with the cold weather
You bring in reminds me
Even more of your existence
Unlike the other January's
This year you've been extra wonderful
By giving me the strength
To leave the old behind
And embrace the new
I've also discovered
"A brand new me"
Leaving behind past
Hurts, insecurities, and doubts
All have been a delight
As you have approached
A new love interest,
Financial blessings, and
A new outlook on life
Although it's just the beginning
The first of the year
Is always the best
Simply because my expectations
Of you never seem to amaze me
Copyright © Donielle Smith | Year Posted 2014
I look out my window
No longer white and fluffy
The snow has turned a sickly gray
Much like my mood towards this season of death
Tired of dark clouds and cold winds
The birds are wise to abandon this desolate place
I dream of sunshine and blue sky
Running barefoot across green grass
Smelling the fresh scent of spring breezes
Lazy days of summer accompanied by young lovers
For now I am a prisoner in a cold land
Wrapped in my blanket staring out at the gray
Nothing seems to warm the coldness that has invaded my soul
Old man winter has stolen another day
I wait and I wait
Time seems to move in reverse
Is there any escape?
I go to my computer
Warm weather awaits me
Just a click a way
Visions of spring dance in my head
I can cheat on winter
Escape cold fingers
I can fly away to some exotic warm land
Run through Sun drenched waves
Drink umbrella drinks
I can follow those clever birds
I long for this escape
Just four hours away
I arrive at the airport bags in hand
Then comes a storm
Old man winter refuses to release his icy grip
I look out the airport window
The snow covered runway is pure white
All flights cancelled
A block of ice where my heart used to be
How I long for spring
Winter Be Gone Contest
Poem written January 27th for your contest.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013
People connect, people want to connect, if stranger-you, stranger as you find yourself, as I see you, wish to speak to me, The Poet once asked, then why shouldn’t you?
We lose touch with it, we try to tease it out in poetry and song, and wrong it comes
In the wrong form and shape it shows, we are embarrassed to try to: I am embarrassed to know.
There are things on YouTube that make us cry. Homelessness on YouTube that make us cry
I lived in Brooklyn for twenty-five, twenty five years of me in Brooklyn and I saw them everywhere.
With no place to go, the phantoms of the train.
Those who tried asked for dollars and cents and some didn’t. And a lot of them smoked crack, many of them brimming high, capsuling, in clouds of mist of drink, most of them had to.
& there are nights of coldness collected in the steel, and there is blue-coldness that hardens the steel
& to them, we look as blue as it, unable to peel the ring off their voices, silence, not flesh-like like they feel when the blue-coldness touches their skin,
& to them some of these holidays make no sense, for out of misfortune or kin they have not a thing to attend
In subway carts I see some leaning, bending with the weight of O’-that-feeling
O’ that hit of steel that makes them want to
Spiritual, black women prayed for them and sang to them I remember. Y algunas, las viejitas, afraid to look their way, said an ave-maria in their heads.
Some white folks prayed, others gave change and some played in their minds other moments that made this one naught.
But that was all of us.
We made the train ring with our laughter and indifference
O’-that-feeling is why I can’t quit
And homeless they are and have been and then has-beens
& we give change and expect none in return
These subway doors open:
“O’ I hope he gets off”
“He’s making me sick”
The songs we sing
People want to connect even when they don’t want to stranger, you
& through train-sliding doors, a glimpse of this, and we try, we try not to lose sight of it
locked eyes looking and no fear
human recognizing human & no fear
pain recognized by pain & no fear
& no fear, and fear not fear
& they will slide
And you will move - and you may remember and may not
Copyright © Ayendy Bonifacio | Year Posted 2014
At the beginning of her life
the flower blossomed big and
her pedals were bright.
Her skin shined with glow
and her laugh was delight.
Then one day
the storm came and
loosened her stem
by a nudge. More and
more it came around
as it kept getting
stronger. Even through that
she still kept her smile and it
has yet to knock her crown.
The wind blew
and the sun tried to shine
She cried herself to
sleep and tried to stay in line.
Her imperfections impacted
her greatly and she'd scream as
her leaves fell off.
Eventually, like the rest, all her
dreams were doffed.
When the next storm came back around it knocked her stem half way and she was forced to look down
But stood so droopy was her crown
Then her hope grew less as she wasn’t
able to grow from the sight of the sun.
Her roots were giving out
as she finally realized it was almost done.
When I went to visit that beautiful flower while the others came along she told us her time left wasn’t long
So the bed gathered to tell the flower
How beautiful she will always be.
She will always be bright and big
No matter how tall the trees got to be
As her Dark purple became lavender
Everyone got to say good bye, all except one.
When the last storm came it knocked her whole stem down. She laid there looking up at the dark sky crying and screaming “why?!”
And as her delicate heart gave out, her crown laid side by side to the beautiful flower that shriveled up
While everyone buried her and her coronal I cried because I never got to say goodbye.
And what I’ve learned from this beautiful flower and broken stem is to never take the time you have
with people for granted. You never know how long you have with them.
Copyright © Julie-Marie Alvarez | Year Posted 2015
Yea, the Roman God Janus
The ruler of new beginnings,
The first hour of the day
The first day of the month
The first month of the year.
You are blessed with two heads
One head to look forward
And the other for retrospective view
I take inspirations from your two heads
For new objectives and new commitments
And to renew the old commitments.
To cast the old and welcome the new.
The shortest day has passed
The days are getting longer
Soon I can stay out in a twilight.
Though January named after you,
Two seasonal diversions are around
To ease the bites of winter.
Though there’s quietness all around
But secret activities are in full swing
The soil absorbs the pure rains
And micro organisms converting
Fodder into usable nutrients
For the next crop of plants.
The hungry earthworms force a way
Impregnating the soil to welcome
The seeds and bare roots to come.
Form: Free verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
Second Place win
Contest: Hello, January by Vicky Tsulima
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014
The year is new.
The season fresh
Like ripe bananas
Ready to be picked,
Plucked and eaten.
Like the jungle.
Ready to be explored
Optimism skyscraper high
Helium filled dreams just waiting
To burst and fall into your hands.
The year is new.
She has exchanged her clothes,
Washed her face,
And now and refreshed,
Eager to take you
Welcome her with open arms.
Wherever she leads you this year
Follow her with cat’s curiosity.
Copyright © Elayne Ogbeta | Year Posted 2015
Now as I account for myself
I know the fight is over
You made me feel if I was worth saving
I was worth having
And I knew as the man flattered to grow
He also learned the crafts of
clinging on to his sleazy self
When we have to account for ourselves
When we have to take stock of the unaccountable
When we have but ourselves to account for
When all but you and I alone are left
Amid the crowds that hover at our presence
in your eye
Amid the lashing lolling tongues
Amid the squelching claws of distrust
And the deriding press of after thought
What are my lean-throated words
What are my bleating pleas of
When we have to account for ourselves
In the awakening stillness of other judgment worlds
What account do we have for ourselves
But the rabid thirst of a search
When we may have met in this or that town
But in this land and in this continent
This temporal crevice
You in the fresh burst of discovery
I in the aftermath of debunking rediscovery
Time was then held alike that summer
Growing only to fruition in our recognition
My senses were growingly numb from blunt use
burning when the electric fondling
dared enter and worry the concealed corners
I saw you then
Not as the strapping dash of bubbliness
Nor as the plaitted innocence of schooling youth
Trundling the scenes of covertly revisited crimes
Forming with others the dutiful mannered habits
Nor as the tall preening blot of shyness
at the hedge of a group picture
Fronting a personality
Simulating elder precepts
Feeling your maidenhood pulsate in reveries
Testing its beat upon hidden hay heaps
Nor as the pure shaft of consciousness
Thrusting into the wake of frightfulness
I saw you
Only as a parcel come to me in mortal need
In a prelatic bestowment of fruits and tins
The salt and pepper of spicy tables
I saw you come to me
in disguise well wrapped and well meant
I saw you come to me
That low day of my life
As a parcel bound in the selfless vines of veins
As the blood of transfusion
As the hope of persistent verse
It was one big inconsumable heart that arrived
Unnamed and unasked for
And I stood and stared
Stared and stood
No longer in unbelief
I did not live from victuals coursing through
I lived and thrived from gorging one
Insuperable unknown heart
(Continued in Part Two)
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012
I now perform the annual alchemy,
my purpose :
to capture Spanish sunshine in a jar.
white fragrant flower to bitter orange sphere.
sugar, water, shredded peel to liquid gold.
and carefully stir the boiling cauldron,
witch-like, the transmutation is complete.
Her courtiers cry “Ma’am est malade”, forsooth,
cured with orange confiture, a royal preserve.
The early morning sun aslant the glass,
through shredded peel makes goldfish in the swim.
The bitter-sweet tang melds with buttered toast.
flavour. What better way to start the day ?
Copyright © Mike Jones | Year Posted 2014
White icing spread atop cut-out trees,
expose green cutout cookie snowflakes,
Blue skies shove away clouds,
reveal warm glossy blanketed fields,
Sunshine toasts the breeze a golden crisp.
Gazing out the picture window,
I watch as God bakes another day of Ohio January.
Copyright © Robin Maughan | Year Posted 2009
she tread around me with
such mock care
with a stifled grin she asked if i was sure
with a teasing voice she narrowed her eyes
and looked as deep as she dare
perfumed and adorned but as alluring as
her spanish leather truth
so like a fool i made sure much to her delight
dance on the head of a red hot pin
dance on the heart of darkness with a devilish grin
the empty promise of her touch is as good as sin
she wears the apparel of luxuriant garden
but delinquent her self esteem like rose petals
fall scented to the illusionary waters of her dry as bone desert heart
she entices me with beckoning gestures
in this wilderness of heat
in this place of madness
as i lay now alone in her aftermath
i dream a dream of her that will be mine alone
long after the candles have died
i forgive myself
as i think would she
and live now to dream my dream
Copyright © mark junor | Year Posted 2014
Ladies and Gents,
I come bearing full my compense,
For all of my misgivings causing reader repents,
Upon further review,
the message I was trying to construe,
at times crossed over boundaries that originate in the pew,
Fortwith presently I swear,
forswearing manner seen debonair,
I shalt tone down the rhetoric whilst maintaining it's flair,
To those in the know,
whispers abound my style has begun to plateau,
this has filled me with anguish and tempestuous woe,
from my hedonistic head to my calloused big toe,
My blessed constitution moves forward yet forcefully with no fear,
For my resolutions, with some substitutions, I shalt devoutly adhere,
As we embark on this journey to the 2013 frontier,
I endeavor to wish All of you Good Tidings and a Happy New Year!
Copyright © Donald Reith | Year Posted 2012
Constrains, remorse tarnish me
Selective amnesia, emotional paralysis
You sigh and whisper an expletive,
that reverberates, like an eternal echo-
through my trembling self, a shell.
Its my birthday, I keep reminding.
It wasn’t a mockery you plead, I smile.
I turn my fleshless skull skywards,
awaiting a single drop of solace.
A brand new diary, the old diaries some pulped,
some lost, some stolen, hidden in hated nooks,
Cynical lipstick, frosted cherries always the same colour;
Year after year, brownish orange like anodyne blood.
Sudden longing for parents, for things that were.
Voice break, swing between fantasy and reality,
grows larger until it swallows the frame-
takes a form, becomes a lost paradise.
Kisses, “surprise!” yelled into deaf ears, hugs.
wrapped goodies, another book, another bangle
A useful box of handkerchiefs, immaculate white, blue bordered,
no kitten this year too, atleast a tiny gold fish?
Curry, conversations, a candle blown-
piece of icing and cake stuffed into a placid mouth,
The weary tongue barely tastes the creamy morsel.
Sorrow of unfinished deeds, incomplete thoughts
a vague scrawl, etched, charcoal-black, across the moon mirror.
Ego gives away to egolessness;
Suspended animation, a limp balloon.
Cataracted inner eye shuts slowly
Age has withered thoughts,
A stale, out-dated fragment
An archaic ramble; the metaphorical toothlessness,
A long drawn bitter shriek-
I mumble intelligibly while the rest of the world moves away;
grating breath leaves odour of decayed memories.
Shrunken, withered, old
Senility hath set in
I turned 24 today
Copyright © Jeena Chacko | Year Posted 2012
Falling fast and hard with a chill in the air… I am drenched with the essence of winter…Safe and sound I am content in my warm and cozy home where I hide…
What do I see? Out of this window of mine…
The harsh storm grows stronger as I gaze intently…The wind billows along searching for its target to tear down and destroy…
What do I see? Out of this window of mine…
I cringe as I stand…my eyes deceived by the site…It takes its first victim… with unfounded strength, small and large, branches are yanked off a tall hollow tree… lay scattered on the frozen terrain…
What do I see? Out of this window of mine…
Copyright © Meg Anderson | Year Posted 2015
A whole new
Irksome block of monotony
Placed at my door
Climb up or down as you please
Vacuous and silly I am all agog.
Some crazys have not slept
My wife, sterner stuff
Shakes off the ennui
And ignores the banal.
Note: Poem written long ago
Copyright © S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Year Posted 2011
We were in a car,
you and me
crunched uncomfortably together,
three people tied
veins of aching blood.
And my knees curled at my chest
in the middle of the backseat,
in profile against
It wasn’t raining
perhaps that would have been
She didn’t speak
only gave me backwards looks
as if to say…
oh, I don’t know what she’d say
if she could say anything to me:
in the dream,
she spoke only to you.
And there I am,
sweating in the backseat,
tears piercing the corners of my eyes,
and I can’t say
Copyright © Robin Lane | Year Posted 2010
From that moment onwards
Not when the fingerless muscles unclasped
the indented bones
But from that moment of knowing
from that very moment of sustenance
That day of human unbelief died unsung
And the depth of human grief buried long
bestirred a momentous song
It willed within me it were man
Some kindly soul no less
But in surfeit laid aside
The biscuits of distaste
It willed within me it were some organisation
Hurrying to the bed of despair
With the spare crumbs of conversion
The Holy Infant to succour
I willed then it were a friend
From want of excuse to teach
His fooling heart to bleat
Robbed his conscience of a treat
I willed and willed and never
In my thankless memory
Sat the image of my enemy
The fulcrum of my singular division
And when that day I delved into my depths
To find the words of irreproachable thanks
I saw you turn and stamp the light
Of my begging steps of penance
I turned, rebuffed
Should I have turned and gone
Away from the stony snarl of thanklessness
Away from all that I saw in that
One inseparable act
Away from my insurrection
From the illimitable doubt of humility
Far away from all the coquetry of cunning
No man was divided more
Between himself and self
Between life and cherished death
Astride on the unwelcome threshold of emptiness
Had I come out of dying
And yet the chained stick of fate
Was certain to unravel for me
No less, no more, the vicious sting of hate
And revived with urgency's gratitude
Twice over, reconditely, I was blessed
(Continued in Part Three)
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012
Did you not notice then
How uneasy I was in the eye of abundance
How hiding from the surfeit of joy
From whose very object I
Learned not to cry
And so all through with fear
Fear opening fresh fear
Without respite, without cause
Deft day handling stolen night
Within the walls of our breath
Nudging through illusory pretences
Waking and making our presence
Forever shy of ourselves
As if all this were not true
Heart closing on heart
You have done your part
What more could I ask
Could you then blame me that I fought
Every step of your way to me
For what I was worth to you
I was ready as a knave to soot
And when indeed you took a man
You took to bed a goon not a man
Though we account for ourselves
and whatever we have accounted for
We do not take ourselves apart
and when we have to account for ourselves
between you and me
Then what we have to account for is three
You, the goon, and the man or me
But when we have nothing to account for
There is but one lonesome count
And so you came to me
A thwarted child
and you told me
"You .... Me"
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 1957 (from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: Rayirath Publications, 1961.) Rev. 2012.
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012