A little poem from my days in the hostel during the sweltering month of May...
dead echoes of the night
still linger in empty halls,
my skin aflame under the fan
but mind in cool mountains
of Murree, where hand in hand
we heard our shouts fly back
as white petals danced down
on smiling faces,
dead echoes of the night
still linger in empty halls,
my skin aflame under the fan
but mind in cool mountains
of Murree, where hand in hand
we heard our shouts fly back
as white petals danced down
