Treasure Island

indira babbellapati

(visakhapatnam, india)

The Emptiness of Self


Bleached,
The night looked
A huge ghost
Walking backwards

The wind blowing
From the ancient banyan
On the village outskirts
Hooted like a giant owl

The sea looked muddy
And the rivers felt dry
Thoughts were scattered
By the banyan wind
Like sand granules at storm

In the corridors
Well lighted, peopled,
Perfumed n jewelled
Is heard a shriek of emptiness that
I tried to muffle in vain!

Submitted: Sunday, July 14, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, July 16, 2013

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