winding through its narrow lanes
chimna butcher , mutton street
artifacts antiques lost mystique
from all over the world a bit of the past they
come to seek.. memories etched
in silence ,, silently speak..
treasures that had seen good times nostalgically weep...as time snores
ruminatively sleeps ..on the pavement on a garbage heap...what you sow is not what you reap..what was once yours now another man keeps..languished lassitude takes a sweep ...deathly deep...
