The sky where kites do not flutter
the city of recluse whispers
women missing from the pavements
the picture of absence in presence
Shortness of breath in my steps
Wheezy exhaustion in my steps
O the All-Abiding One, the rest are doomed to perish
Is there any gatherer of decayed lamentations?
In the observation of analytical riddles
Heartless like plucking the last rose from its bud
Starry-eyed like sorrow hideless in tears
In an arena where giants wrestle
Mine is the grief of windmills
I wonder how many in the world have heard your name
how many strangers coveted your chasteness?
A festival of swings on a mobile gondola
is the blue in children’s eyes
the geography orphaned in its own atlas
O the love of thousand miles stretching wide
with the accented tongues of rare guests
I sing the spring songs that no one will hear
Just you carry on fearing…
But I am laughing deep blue in the dimples of blue gazes
No Comment.