Smaller than Life
Why a blog? Simple. Cacoethes Scribendi -- the urge to write! My literary pretensions and caprices bring me here. Like any writer I write to be read. All my posts, though fettered to my small world and trivially myopic, will live and yearn that somebody connects to them someday. Cognitive frenzies, sardonic musings, aimless banters, incoherent ramblings and trivial indulgences; this is simply an episodic narrative of my trivial world -- in a grain of sand… Smaller than Life.
When I am dead,
- Hillaire Belloc
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Her message is committed
- Emily Dickinson
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- William Wordsworth
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Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Spilt tea trickles down my room,
My walls and carpets soak in
The aroma of a tea that has been spilled.
The spill slowly trickles out
Into richly scented rivulets...
There is more milk in the house,
And invigorating crushed tea leaves;
Crystalline cubes of sugar that wait
To melt into more cups of steaming tea,
For guests that have left.
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