In A Caravan Poem by Prayag Saikia

From the star of Bethlehem
If we draw a line
We shall find
It doesn't end in pieta
It recycles
Painting a caravan for hundreds of years
With the apostle of peace

Time indeed isn't a desert
Yet we imagine it to be

For a ripe fruit of Eden
With a few fig leaves
We draw a curtain of mist

Who else can crawl
In the arid desert
Except the serpent of our thoughts

With the venom we exist
With the hope
We draw our crucifix

For not only a century
But for myriads of cycles
We promise to live.