Free-doomed

Through the window 

Of the luxurious prison cell 

Sitting on the drowsy bed sheet

I wonder,

I wonder about all the Yesterdays

The growth in-between

The Yesterdays and the Today evenings

The God-ness of the Devil

Time,

The monster as my friend address him

Always notifying the earliness of the oldest

The unforeseen kash flower in Varanasi

The downpour of the poesy

The memories of the relics of the last touch

The mad man walking to and fro

From the Ghats to the Chauraha

All melts down on my desire to love.

The weaving of the fingers under the soulful drizzle

shouts at me, edifying another prison cell

In the time to come, the dying shall cease

And the ghats might turn arid

I shall be discharged of the broken wings then

Today my fears

matching its harmony with the Sun

Amidst the clouds

predicts the death, of the sameness

At the intervals of Me, the mad man and his feet

I am here,

assuring myself-

Birds go home to come back to the sky.