Lost Man's Dagger Poem by Somendra Gaur

Time is sprinting under the wan stars,
Colors are lost,

What shall it take to get me bailed?
Either I don't remember things or I remember them in great details.

I feel like a lonely Mussoorie road,
On an early August evening;

In the hollowness of the uninhabited misty mountains,
I lie in the lap of old Pine trees,
On the bed of snow,
Breathing out myst,
With a glove in left hand,
Manipulating tiredness;

I've made friends with a scared pack of wolves,
I bolviate,
Expecting help, in finding my stolen glove;

In the socket-chiseled teeth of strife,
Where the time is sprinting under the wan stars,
Colors all lost,
I shall drink my share of ardent love & life.