In the possession of the present and the delusion of the moment next, my incoherent thoughts take refuge in my rather nonsense fantasies. The whole scene untidy but the desire resolute I ask for you. I ask for your touch; I want you to stop me. How do you stop me without touching? I ask you to speak the words; how do you articulate with out speaking? I want you to understand me. For that you have to ask me. No. But you don't speak, no you don't touch. Just the silence is too noisy and the eyes says it all, touch is hard. And I am stopped and I am understood and I am spoken all by the two glittering eyes.
In the past, the present and the future all that exist are the two glittering eyes.
Truly
Abinash
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