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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 4. on this spine having a mouth of crocodile always jump down the climate everyday the sunglass changes look at the soil and the sky no one of them has any body-guard the open mouth of the light swallows the grey coin here the wall becomes more tamed the wild jasmine comes nearer to the heart and hums then ripping open my veins should i also vomit the blue elocution accumulated on the cock-pit after recovery of the flower-mill from fever the harmonium is being played on even introduction with the gas-balloon has not been done yet 5. arrangements are being made the green shirt will gradually turn reddish the culverts that have become exhausted within the travel-format will get recharged again to sit up straight and the hawker will get passed the silent-home shouting with undressed coconuts in hands from the lap of the stand-still rocking-cradles of the children-park the amaltas will say i’m ready then to escape the sun-shine the boy who comes to attend the private tuition will embrace… oh margosa … its your pierced-heart you may tell him that the name of the girl who is eating guava and swinging her legs sitting on its branch is munni 6. the horse is running just above 3 feet of the yellow cornice his back is full of dreams or a girl named miss dorothy around it is the mid-night around it is the wind that wants to be printed and in every corner of its flying are hundreds of skirts all are of free-size what may be their market-price there is no shop-keeper there in that valley a shadow is proceeding on do you know whose shadow it is he is philip the teacher who gets irritated easily this time there is no thin cane in his hand in the pieces of papers dumped in the waste-box under his window there is a manuscript eaten up by the worms there is ‘darling’ there and ‘yours beloved greta’ in which skirt a touch of that greta does remain is it being searched even today is it greta or margaret or eliza there is no bar if it is dorothy in whose smell there is no greta who has no such horse flying just above three feet of the yellow cornice each mid-night fills the fountain pen with the flow of blue ink
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