Monday, February 7, 2011

Landscape: Khowai

Heart kept in the cup of my palm
Turned red with rust
The meandering route snakes
Through my body greyed with dust.

Now from the branches of eucalyptus
The crescent moons are hanging.
Thousands of moons
Fall and fill to bury me up
One by one

Each moon turns into a drop of tear
And flows away like a stream
A rain of moon:
Rain and rain,
Rain washes and erodes the flesh
from my rusted heart,
lump by lump

Rains, more it rains
And I sink in each rain drop

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