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The wooden bench keep looking
Countless new faces
Crossing by the enormous valley
This valley of clouds
Cannot be touched by
The cacophony of rush, slogan and
Melancholy of loneliness
Walking on the summit
The star-studded earth
crossing through the cover of cloud
when did it envelop
the Dzukou lily
embraced in its bosom.
The way I came back
That is a lovely unseen world
The trees growing with breathe
The ice-cold river
The flock of birds heading towards light
White Jesus
Lost in the labyrinth
of deep shadow of green
In the luxury of emptiness of the sky
Where the sunshine changes its hue
That is the world of engrossment.
The materialistic baggage wakes up
In the cacophony of the crows
The procession of citizens passes
By The facade of the intercontinent
They speak to the smooth fingers of the hand-
‘We have split tongues’
We stay alive in dungeons
The worn out skeleton of a misty life
Would emerge out
on raking up the gorge
Breath becomes short
like being inside a closed coffin
When does the weary tree lose its shadow
It is our amnesia
From this house emanates
The earth shattering cinematic shot
One after another
35 piece climax
Love
Illusion
One complement to the other
You give us love
We life
What are you asking for
Violence or death?
Rebuilding by gathering oneself is love
Illusion lost in illusiveness
Every spring falls in love of the singed love
The words making round
Is taking a break
They continue to pass from ear to ear
The bird from the other side of the border
Telling a tale of buds and fallen leaves
rolling around people’s lips.
The evening market is quivering in breathe
Love of the city has rendered its limbs useless
The city has
no special eye to have a look
no time to spare to listen to
no dear ones to express its love
The city still exists
Whoever has watched pangs of childbirth
Whoever has borne some bankrupt pictures
of flesh and blood
Who continues to wait
Forgetting everything
For the prayers of light
The birds, the river, the trees
Are still alive
The city still exists.
Before a tree mutilated by
continuous rattling of woodpecker
gets uprooted and topple down
The city embraces its entire agony
That which does not have a sky of light
Has for oneself the Earth-God
Our Earth is kneeling down in prayers
This fleshy ones chased down by age
Can be impeded by a pain
Where the pain would hum the painful stanza
Whose is the pain?
Is it of being alive?
To keep oneself in hiding
or of the living dead son of God
Even after all these
a tree keeps alive
Fresh white blooms bloom on the uncaring branches
The earthen dolls that wants to be buried
Is like a spring fitted horse doll
That moves on endlessly
The path that is not true
Not the one to discover oneself
This path is of illusion
Where the rock puts on
An armour of happiness
Covering its face.
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