Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Munna on the run. Again.
How can you stop running when you have travelled miles and sat on that bench and watched the birds? How can you stop when you know somewhere around the corner you'd find your favourite words written over the sky? How can you not go on when you know somewhere along the miles you'd meet the poet's ghost still in his walking boots. How would you ever explain that poetry sentenced you to a lifetime of running?