Twisted shout. Apple sauce. Essential forest.
Oranges hanging off door hinges; purple is dull.
Make sense of the apostrophe in the apocalypse
Rave songs, naked souls and cobwebs.
No guesses to guess the unrest and the torment.
Doormat; warheads and droplets.
A sentence. A prose. A word unsaid.
Leaves hope like those long dead.
Search. The endless pursuit of the duped.
The next ones as aimless following suit.
Cute.
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 