Gypsy dreams• Show poetry

!"Me: Did I ever tell you that I always paint my picture red?
'X”: About thousand times..."
And the conversation goes on....till the time we can afford words no more...! Don’t worry it's just a part of my own fiction...

want to fill the void with colors ...and put on my own skin inside out...want to dream a dream of perfection and then wake up like "something alive"...a happy note a brilliant end , where a caterpillar no longer worries about being a butterfly as it knows it's only a transformation not death...

it has always been a contradiction between being and nothingness , between a yes and a no ,between existence of something that is light and heavy at the same time ,a probability of getting head or tails. ...between not lying and not telling the truth...but luckily we always have an escape route....

Decoratively we call it indifference...!
it's a process which is just like an ancient text of alchemy ....turn anything into gold....just one touch...dying light! still when the raindrops beat like a drum I no longer want the cold serenity of a monk, but the warm restlessness of a poet.....never ending, never dying, forever new...a celebration , a feast on life...!

"A character is never the author who created him. It is quite likely, however, that an author may be all his characters simultaneously"

And I love to write , paint, create, build, protect me and my characters...whole night long...!

Come, exchange dreams....