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Happy and well,
one life of this earth.
Pronounced the guts-
from the very birth.
Why is she quiet now?
Her questions,
her individualism.
Theories of her nuptial knots-
with the pharaohs of the present times.
Where has her philtre for alterations gone?
Bore she the stoicism;
from grand ones to the precessives.
Can a squeezed throat;
utter the words-
of bliss;
and the certitude.
slapped,
being a juvenile.
Juvenile-
as she has broken the norms.
Norms of retrospects,
norms of blindness.
The norms-
which restricted the pleasure and freedom.
She,
unveiled the veil.
She-
sought for the open-ness.
She,
searched the bone-fire;
amidst the extremism-
amidst the gurus.
Exiled,
for the relief.
Mixed is the splitted;
of a girl of Hinduism and Islam.
Storms
in the silent ship-
couldn't break the deck;
nor the sailor took the turning.
Bed Prakash Bhatta
| Submitted Date |
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Sunday, April 15, 2007 |
| Submitted Date |
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Monday, February 14, 2011 |
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Poets
