I was in love with a man
who used to love his pen for the way
It used to flow on the paper.
I was in love with the man
who swayed words so meticulously;
that they used to feel coy.
Yet this world couldn't understood
He was a frantic monk---
Thou Artist, Thy Art ---
who used to love his pen for the way
It used to flow on the paper.
I was in love with the man
who swayed words so meticulously;
that they used to feel coy.
Yet this world couldn't understood
He was a frantic monk---
Thou Artist, Thy Art ---
Sagrika Kissu
