Poetry
In the light of the parasite moon
When the support of ground under feet
dissolves away, darkness devoid of love comes closer
from all around.
Playing restless hide and seek, unbridled memory
cannot hide the mind for long.
Once overpowered with the heatless light
of the parasite moon, the one, that took rest
in the eyes, took it for his rebirth, the yard of autumn.
The sculptor of earthen myths has understood,
but the one who has passed his only life
being a parasite
has not.
Skeleton of a doe
Then god, sleeping as if a mummy, seeing all,
and we, on this earth, keep on moving
scared, in the eyes of a chased doe.
We go on counting the beats of breath of tranquil water;
then no more imaginary grasshoppers fly in the heart.
We feel the air of the forge of a smithy all the ribs do so.
The scrambling of some blue eyed robbers
they all get smeared with our fertile musk;
we keep on floating on drought
sunlight in paddy fields devoid of breeding.
We ponder and wonder how long we're lying left away,
a skeleton of some boneless, lifeless doe.