Tuesday, December 21, 2010


this dream that buds in me
billows like smoke column of joss sticks
i watch it soar and blend into the haze

dew-laden florets enthuse a silent choir
with their perfume

that’s when broken whispers weave melodies
that's how rehearsals commence
in my inattention

often a sitar starts to hum and guides
immigrant plots to reach inviting homes

yet the verve fizzes out
the heart beat softens
those sitar thrums tone down

and i revert back to ant-watching

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