On the concrete trees,
Blessed are the free
Painful it must be for the avian souls
When, the breeze is caged
And its screams go unheard
When the sunset howls
For the blue dreams blurred
When the greens are slaughtered
And their sweet songs interred.
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About Soma Mukherjee
I often say things that put me in a jam, Jams go well with Buttered Toasts, Toasts are great hosts, Ghosts not so much, Although they can dance, Not all dancers are serial killers, Serial killers do not use Body bags that often, body bags aren't leak proof, Proof is in the Pudding.
