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IN THE CHARIOT OF TIME
IN THE CHARIOT OF TIME
Not much is left behind
The last louse has crept out
Of my diseased body.
From the house of death
Frozen blood left estranged
No more dreams-
Clotted blood transfigured
Into a mural painting.
A groan choked deep in throat
Anklets of death chirping madly
Glittering sword swinging-
You ask
Why am I mute ?
Racing blood vessels
Slips into deep sleep
Tender shoots of dreams
Burnt into ashes
In hot sun.
No answer, convincing
Oh! Goddess, Mother
Pluck out eyes that tend to dream
In deep mourning struggled path
Eyes have no role to play.
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