Supposed to be packing our bags,

As the journey is quite long.

Supposed to be writing a letter,

For the birds are singing a song.

Supposed to be winning,

As it is Lord,

Who has given the words,

It is divine beauty,

For the fragrance is subtle,

And light in flow. Adios



What is sin’ing?

Is it singing?

Well duh! Yes!

It’s singing.

Now what?

Well let’s sing.

What to sing?

Make it a song,

While the chords,


Let it be majestical,

And beautiful,

For it’s my friend Lark,

Who is the music director,

Of the melodious tune,

Which we are going to sing.



A Soul.

A soul said to me,

The sun is blue,

And the moon is red.

Keep the sky in the drawer,

And say the rest.

Keep on playing.

The harmonica,

The beautician’s magic.

I am the one behind the curtains,

Let the colours finish.

I said-“What are you saying?”

He said-“I didn’t say anything.

It was the saying of the truth.” 

Who knows?