once a dog
was pissing on a wall.
the wall fell on the dog
and it died.
alas! poor dog!
the last sacraments over,
all gathered around
where the flames were hissing high,
and howled in high dudgeon:
'we must give an half-leg support
to boost our morales.'
i am starting my journey;
the words wavered half in throats
were full of hopes....
the memories fly away to a far off place.
now i see
they were the throbs of the ages
which has no home-coming.
the rains drained
in the burnt out days,
when i've lent you my heart,
on my journey which has no return
to our memory.
Turned Out As A Wind
it was not known when,
but a gentle wind was blown here
puffed up with a lot of care
that would reflect someone's pain.
catching the hands of feet-burnt shadows
brought them back to the spread of shades.
a tree with fits of anger
was given a pat on the shoulder
buzzed and howled a swarm of flies
in the reddened eyes of a baby-cow.
they had made a meal of eyes
ere the flies were driven off by the wind.
the wind has fanned a mother who stews some tar
and an half-burnt baby too.
a blind man
who had scratched and scratched
and turned out insane,
stoned at the wind too.
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