Monday, August 30, 2010


It is not alphabets or words
I have lost in funeral pyre
but a soft feather like feeling
which I thought genuine
in any day or night to be part
of humans
and in poems
it is beyond my thinking streams
to believe there rivers
flow across giant islands
and subcontinents to sell their own
souls in extreme rapids
It is not speech I lost
that arrived in me like sea
in torrential rains
from mountain peaks
but silence that I have lost
which shattered in pieces
like a crystal flower pot
when thin rectangular
replica of a medium
whispered in morse codes
from corridors of lost conscience
to shatter, dismantle
pillars on which truth tied its flag
and in my primitive soul
I fought a war against me on many
conflicts inner and outer
to let my chains free
and in pyres
I lost not words
but my smile and feelings
to silence
where I waited for rains
torrential to shower
all around me...

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