Dust in
the wind…
Dust in the wind,
Sparrows high above.
The subtlety of dusky evening, long
gone.
Left over are the paper cups,
Crushed and abandoned,
With no signs of lip balms.
Just the abundance of you,
In the rain drops and distant
horizon.
Yet nothing mentioned
How insignificant we are!
Amongst the birthplace of warmongers,
Amongst the kingdom of preachers.
Lower the blood pressure,
Even lower than atmospheric.
To call by your name
Shivers my pulsating veins!
Deep, deeper, and the deepest grave
Beneath the darkest sky of the race.
Where you lie wide awake
With all the futile tolerances.
Nothing to mind,
Everything to lose.
Psychedelic lights and stony
footpaths
Couldn't secure you.
Neither was the holy crowd.
You were brutally raped!
Yes! you were raped with millions of
sperms
That oozes out with a promise.
A promise to give birth
A pacific full of demons.
That worldly evening was so fine
When the humid air made you sweat.
Each drop of it sparkled,
As if the colours of spectrum
Kissed you, cuddled you.
Yet it was terribly so wrong.
Even Nostradamus was ashamed
For this bug in prediction.
You slipped away like the paper cups,
Crushed and abandoned every moment.
And as the evening dust in the wind
hits,
I find ways to beg forgiveness and
tranquility.
As I too ooze the same amount of
sperms
With a sense of defeat...
- 25th April,
2014, 7.25pm – dusky and humid evening with a window seat of a bus and blessings of city
traffic.
