Dust in the wind…

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.