January 28, 2015

Zingara

Gathered under the crescent moon,
Waiting for her to come back soon,
A withering look scratching traces.
Flickering candles light their faces.

Music keeps the jungle humming,
Broken tides keep on coming
Cries a woman under the hood
Time never cared or understood.


The stories are woven from molten gold,
As fortunes made and dream are sold
Yet the magic lies sparsely strewn

Find the path or fade away soon.




Gyanban Thoughts :  just a few lines about a female gypsy and her wandering mind and the longing soul.The journey she travels and the life she marvels ,the rocks she stumbles and the feelings that crumble....

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Sands of time

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