Wednesday, 29 September 2010

Wednesday morning 10 am


I found a poem in the poetry anthology eating dollops of dust somewhere in my memory. The words said (can't remember who the poet was): My mother's blind eyes may never be cured. Yet, maple leaves are red.
Ever since I have kept my eyes, ears and my 2 megapixel phone camera open.
This above is on a wall, pressed by water and time.

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