maybe it is a little too late, a little too late to see, to recreate, to forgive and to forget, to mend mistakes , to hope for wonders. it is like an unfinished story that will keep you guessing forever, an unending tale of rise and fall, it is like the unexplained. because it is too late to complete the incomplete, to finish the unfinished ; and all that incompleteness induces is yet another spell of incompletion...every unfinished answer is a drag force that pulls the soul backward, every unfinished letter is a testimonial to unharboured thoughts, every incomplete sentence a lingering of words, every unshed tear a birth of new suppressions, every unending path a new journey and every unfinished poem a measure of infinity...

for the one creeping into my blog (read: personal space)

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
u creep, dis ones for you...how dare u shoo me away...will tie a chain around your neck and take u to the park for a walk.

LovE

It is believed love is a most strange thing,
It knows no pace no still,
It travels fast at times, at times it just fills
Abysses of time and hearts out on the kill.
It is believed to grow fast,
But when on shallow slope it flows,
It believes a heart waits to wrap it in,
To within itself envelope.
And then one day it will reach,
The destination it always planned to,
One day it will guide a mind gone astray,
Into the arms of a fresh new day.
And it shall never be too late,
For time is an even stranger thing when u wait,
Destiny a matter of which way you sway,
And hence, my Love, its never too late.