COLOUR OF MY BONES

With a heartfelt gratitude and affection, I strongly express my words of adoration to those who have been reading my poems for all these years and abetted me when I was despondent. Poetry has been my passion and it was more than pain I have been sharing with my readers, but I strongly disagree with those who take poetry just as the part habit but it is rather an ache of living, longing and love.

Poetry for me sounds like sake of or the bottle of poison going deep down in the veins and circulates for hours in unconsciousness. I cant have my exact words to name it or express its true connotation but something that comes senseless yet with all senses, something that torments with sweet pain, and something that takes into skies and throws back to the ground very hard.

I request my readers not to leap into my poems blindly. Please read in complete isolation with the entrance of heart. I dont recommend my lines to those that read them once a place the book on the shelf, just read with inner self or stay away from the book. These are not the words of pride or something but the hand folded request.

Regards!