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Nithin Purple

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“Now weary drought is unfolding with morn's very maturing warmth,where scorching sun's importing beams a glowing fire upon our hearth.Naught,the chillness of rills,no more a flowering spot for musing eyes,summer's dirge is haunting still,we singing our notes in hapless ease.”

“If ‘beauty’ be the self-satisfied pride she bears,each fly does wing around her cherubic sweet face,as they; lovers seek what her anonymous covers,and dream them in a transient trace.”

“Meandering the soul, poor wretch baffl'd kid, whence shall go and wherefore it strives to hourly fate,irregular, perplexed, timely wet and frigid—by life, naive is you and fierce too your dispute.”