Don't aim for me when I'm gone, when all there's left are memories of old songs I sung; don't aim with roses or with a gun, when all there's left are memories of the tears and fun... The birds have migrated to the West my love, each and every empty nest now boasts of only… Continue reading OLD SONGS
And so, the long awaited Spring, sent word of its coming...on those leafy messengers of the Fall... © Isha Garg
He loved her like the sun loves the mountain... she was part of a hard and cold belt, he kissed her peak, her fear and pain, and in his touch, she did melt. And when in his touch she did melt, clear and bubbling did her rivers flow, for the true love and bliss that… Continue reading The Sun and the Mountain
