By Sanjeev Naik

Every night we unweave the
memories - shadows flirting in
those secret places where the
color is lost and the motives
unknown. Soundless, they scamper
across the turnstiles of our mind
- exalted in their temporary
resurgence. How cold the gestures
of our past feel now,
how frigid their touch.


Some stories have to be told - but
silence sings the loudest songs.

Sanjeev Naik
Ohio, USA 
August 29 2000