Blindfolded Harmony Poem by Pinaki Dewan

The long, black chain falls from the sky,
The shooting stars climb it in agony,
The burning grass smokes its last goodbye,
While I stand at the threshold of harmony.
It is a blindfolded harmony,
My dear, it is a blindfolded harmony,
Touch and break the agony,
It is a blindfolded harmony.

The air is ochre like an old photograph,
The clouds have iron hands in velvet gloves;
It is coming, I wonder who will write the epitaph
Of the world on Judgement Day, will the doves
Succumb? I wonder who will make the judgement
At this strange fold of harmony.
My dear, it is a blindfolded harmony,
Touch and break the agony,
It is a blindfolded harmony.

The sparrow floats by like a shrivelled oak leaf
Crackling softly in the tapering winds,
The door is cracked in the middle, darkness abscinds,
And yet, I have all my marbles, and my belief:
The twilight fills sheafs with insanity
In this terrible mold of harmony.
Touch and break the agony,
It is a blindfolded harmony.

She has a pawnshop-dullness,
Her lips are grass-trodden;
In a way, we are all old, sodden,
But she wouldn't even moon around:
Has the ground finally lulled?
A skeleton in the cupboard,
The night all rusted, sored;
Has it finally frozen her,
The impetuous cold of harmony?
My dear, it is a blindfolded harmony,
Touch and break the agony,
It is a blindfolded harmony.