Out here are books and magazines- asleep, carrying the entire world in them, and standing there are walls and windows, staring at me, and leaves of letters here-- about to go melting quite like the heart itself, and photographs-- lost in themselves as if- they're thinking of someone.

Neither my deeds contain any essence nor, my gestures have sense of zeal, my days are creeping forth for nothingness; with this body deficient of heart and soul O' Glorious! O' Lord Almighty ! how can I come close to you?

Eyes that obstruct the road can be removed, but what happens when hearts block the passage?

My heart itself is a wound, no medicine can cure it It deepens further if stared at, and hurts more if touched.

Sentences confined to limited definitions meanings restricted to limited words knotted in experiences and sensations musings, smiles and the eyes; and holding the entire love of Creation in my heart how may I offer you one?

Sometimes, silence works more intensely than a bayonet to slay a tender heart.

Splitting love, among differences between love and soul, and love and the heart, and love and the body, and love and life; and slicing it further into multiple pieces, how may I offer you the entire love?

I've climbed up here holding the hilt of time's sword by driving it into my tender heart.

I know you’ll speak no truth at this time. I’ve to be guided solely by your silence, your eyes and the inaudible appeals of your heart.