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Showing posts from July, 2017

Poem of a Baby Sparrow

frosty dawn wrapped in clouds
completes sketching a sparrow
on the nape of memory

lusted on the deciduous leaves in yellow,
flapped renouncing the colours

baby feathers falling around withered
filled with an odor of an autumn dream
black and white

with a shortened hair whispered to ear
"a rhythm of played lyre
here to be spread all over thee"
and widespread wings
spontaneously names itself
a poem of baby sparrow

this time
in lack of wandering into the poem,
rests in the last line
as last word

Snow, Word or a Penance

Poems of a very solitary
adhere like a leech on the Crease of my inner wall
painted with blurred darkness in red

Entrusting me for writing
snow has started falling with its thousand poems,
the night lays their eggs of secret words therein
ME Scattered as;
A cup frozen with tea stains,
books read few pages or half,
an innocent ballad with the feather that crow dropped,
a heap of dirty clothes,
filled with the words of snow.

The me

In rapture,
I play the beloved loudly
perversion of writing down
then the latter repentance
smeared the fragrance of the gloom all over my body

writing is the pleasure of relieving,  music too

I must sit yajna for pleading the boon of non-writing

are your grays deeded for sitting on my lap with a shortened hair?

Have your bareness and bosoms distract penance
vanished from you yet

* Yasodharā was a wife of Siddhārtha Gautama, later known as Gautama Buddha