Date: February-16,2018 | Read: 366
A breath cherishes an unoccupied den
With din of the dishes in the kitchen
Breeze in spring, wind in autumn
Her sighs vibrate the being
From the eaves pour down
The dew-drops, they spread hands
Who wash their dark face.
Neither are roots fixed nor branches
Dense, ever, but Sun throws in ear a word
Of growing bigger in the hottest deserts
With seeds, balmy breeze and woods
For warmth, for shade: in winter, in summer
When kangri and pheran: bath and fan
Just fail to lessen her hoary pain.
Since I have seen the rivers flowing
Over the skies and heard a creak
on opening the door of her broken soul
And I inch close to my heart
To the beats just hear.