The Anklet Set With Small Bells That Assassinates Poem by murari sinha

in the heap of ashes that lies
in between my staring at
and her secret word

there rests some rosy handkerchief
gifted on birthday

rests some picnic with knitting of wool
and the melody of a salted sea

know nothing about poison
don't understand what is nectar

i just notice that here continues
the flow-tide of jackfruit-leaf

if the tweet composed by five-fingers
be sacred then on another field
there rings the anklet set with small bells
that assassinates

it's a reality that my staring at and
her secret word want to enthrone
the same river