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After aeons
Today, you are here
My breaths
Smooth and scent
The fear
To exist vanishes
Like the April snow
Weightlesness,
Floating in the
Fleets; loose clouds
Untouching,
Touch my face
Caressing
The ear-rings
The pine trees say
'You have other things to do'
You are here
Never to forget
Never to regret
Never to leave
Never to grieve
You are not here
I'm a thieve
Stealing my ownslf
Oh! You have come
You have gone
Fear; army, guns, boots
Scientific loots,
sharp knives,
One hundred thousand lives,
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers
Bereaved, bereaving wives
Perhaps,
Gone down to the
Bottom of sea
The bollywood songs blare
And we listen to with flare
Forget, the political contours of our being
We move around
The apple-orchads
Cashemere; A place of
Rustic romance
Sophictication in crudity
The thorns pay homage
By piercing your
Virgin fingers
The baggage
Personal, historical, lingers
Thieves,
We steal moments
Only to be shattered
Into a zillion smithereens
To be divided
In our different selves,
To be placed
In disparate worlds
Distant unconnected shelves.
Thieves,
We steal romance
And sweet sweet chance
Ah! You bring
Bumthan in Barista
Mir-Bazar in Munirka
You were here always to forget,
You wre here always to regret,
Always always to leave,
To grieve and grieve,
''Why don't i make a call? ''
Focault peeps from
The glasses of
'Fact And Fiction'
Love,
Scent and solace
Love,
The desire to rule,
Dominate, usurp! ! !
You are here,
The ideology is burning,
No one teaching,
None learned, nor learning
We are turning
In the eddying
Waters of Sandrin
The shadows,
Yours and mine
The dogs have long gone back,
My Cashemere,
Your Cashmere,
Our Cashmere,
My own Cashmere,
Your own Cashmere,
Oue own Cashmere,
My dear Cashmere,
Your dear dear Cashmere,
Our own dearest Cashmere,
Oh the dearest one on the earth
Today, you are here,
We are our own selves,
Complete, not on different shelves,
After aeons, today
You are here
feroz rather
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