Silhouettes more real than bodies degenerating into the dungeons of secrecy talking with mustaches seeing with fingers ignorant of colors refugees in their own land bereft of fun stars peep out during the day time to see the tangled twigs half visible in the messy water growing into seamless cobwebs everything with the heated fire coming to a close under the cover of laughter with muttered teeth.
I AM ACTIVE;Interested in welfare activities;involved in creative writing and literary criticism;delivering popular and academic lectures on British, American, Canadian and Indian English literature. Write poetry and fiction in Oriya. A novel in English and Oriya is in process. Teaches Communicative skills.
Thanksgiving never will I forget Hopping in the car for a very long ride to grandma’s house With heavy frost on the grass, glistening in the sun Singing songs and counting grain bins to pass the time Now the frost
Well you’re one hopeless romantic Almost a border line lovesick fanatic But I wouldn’t change you not if I could I love your wet and sappy kisses And the way you hold me so tight I think I’m gonna pass
Oh DON’T GO IN THE BASEMENT child, Don’t let them in; don’t let them get to you Keep all the doors that lead downstairs Double locked, I’m telling you this for your Own good child, do whatever you gotta do