IN THE PRESENT HIBERNATION
No longer well is the woman, the forlorn,
not even any ripple in the great lake ,
only a handful of rice ---- that too
pangs of thorns do not leave the feet .
She allows water to flow beneath the creeper .
In the present hibernation
She takes all the blame to her side
that’s stained by smoke from her old lantern.
But the female was not actually out of company
even after she lost her colour and brushes .
Could she now recall when was the last rain ---
And in those evenings full of muddy smell
her temple cann’t come out of the laziness .
In the forgone winter days
the unknown fog used to burst balloons.
SILENTLY PASSES THE SPRING
Why did you come , Rain ?
Don’t you know today is full moon ?
Moon has got hurt
and shouted a muck .
You melted the yellow of the chin
and put out the wasp
in the lock of blacky hair .
Who are now rolling back
and who do not stand by their promise ?
Who else clipped the wings
not having to fly away ?
Branches are lonely----morose----
the red Palash vanished .
Today is colour festival ,
where to find a dry spot ?
Not even your boobground is dry
to rub the powder colour.
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