I want the fever to grab me forever and want you to be my fever.
These heads sheltered by umbrellas be they of Zeb-un-Nisa, or Catherine of Cleopatra or Fenichka live with their own stories
When this flood blocks the road I am worried more by my soil getting washed, than by getting late to reach my destination.
In how many minds should I go crazy? Whom should I ask?
In this atmosphere Where you have to go perennially crazy only to survive, Which auspicious moment should I choose to become mad?
May this night come wearing drunk cloak of love, carrying passionate desires, and intoxication of love! Tonight, may I get so drunk in love that I do not see any dreams!
Silence is the best language to speak in when you have lots of things to say.
Let us be honest we have praised Angulimala, will make no difference If you convey my salute to Amrapali.
Light jumping out of window is staring the dark from afar.
Haunted trees covered behind the curtains of their own leaves stare at the dark from the fringe of streets.
Still enveloped in a blanket of dreams he (life) continued to lie still, pretended as if he was in a deep slumber.
Why say then Buddha never carried gun? he didn't play piano, we do not know of him making pictures either.
I am gazing-- desires unaware of destiny frisk about my mindscape like children.
I exist no more, every moment a new being lives inside me.
Having been ripped open and drained by the crowd When I enter my home, Many homes seem to be waiting for me to give a shape to this life which is about to perish.