Author: Avanti Sopory

Entangled in balls of yarn; origins unknown...With a blunt pencil, the quintessential machine and the cacophony; hope to knit a flying carpet and steer the magic carpet around… Yours truly, Slave Of Words

Something inside has not grown, Child in me, still forlorn,   What was sowed never reaped, Alas! Only abhorrence was heaped,   What got started never ended, Innocent friendship was dented,   Birthday cakes, wafers, candies perished, Before memories could be cherished,   Fields, farms, friends was my abode, One dark night thrown like a truckload,   Friends turned foe, goaded by grown-ups, Coaxed to follow, just like little pups,   That moment, I lost