In trance the poet walked
In company of his spouse
Rhythm is nothing but a step
Attuned to his spouse’s walk
Conch shells empty
With nadabrahma* ready
The never-ending ecstasy of music
Rhymed in poets’ uncanny words.
Drowsily the poet moved
A wreck on the pedestrian stones of the seas
Lust was nowhere in his rhymes
Love is all but affinity to a single soul.
Still attuned to love and lust,
The poet, harried, went across the seas
Spices had all drowned in the fathoms
Suspicion mingled with a wracking of the swans
The queen had grown a pond
Pond had a number of fish and fowl
Alas! The ways of poets are inscrutable.
The ancient city saw her
In the attire of the modernity
One had taken the bowl of his heart
Burning to millions of suns
Light had to be shared
Among the vast millions of men and women
When the first nuclear fission took place
He cried : in the sky is a thousand suns.
When the first poem explodes
He would say:
in the heart are a thousand candles!
Extinguished candles have a white smoke
Candles are bright when lit and extinguished.
The bamboos had an existence in bunch
Separated, a piece would try to sing
Of the bosom whence it had come
The sparrow would fly in the sky
The lover would die there of love.
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