The Curvature of Mystery

Bereft of leaves, the naked branch That spreads onto our balcony Is the curvature of mystery Which poses the question eternally Its flame like twigs tiny, newborn, its branches of fruits that stop the wayfarer The cuckoos that sing in its cool shade The little blue rags of sky caught in its leaves and keep fluttering- Where are they! Where did they go! Now of course it is a naked branch, At its end a kite, like a tail of sankranthi That vanished into time like evaporating tear invisible- If I show you one visible posture I know you people devour the entire invisible world of my thoughts and feelings I know – that is why –I say it is naked but in that branch Time is flowing like electric current in the copper wire. -Seshendra Sharma homepage:http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com