Line of Rains

1 from the utterance of the clouds I can understand now there is no particular season which may be called as rainy in any time those weak-days may be drenched the water-mark of the candles may exist after the sun rises now whether it was a wrong way or a wrong going that debate is still on 2 you put the age over my shoulders but I can’t roar so much why my anger is then no more a child if the yellow colour means the disappearance of whiteness from the locked-teeth then the bird will fly with its beaks getting experienced when all one around here wants to be the seed of the intellectual grass how much relevant is such a mute lamp-post 3 the morning of the clouds awakes touching the line of rains another giant night keeps waiting in the darkness of the other that delta rises in the secret water of the river where with the songs of the birds the hot coffee acquires the lips the hands are as if like very known creepers the tree is in search for a brown body to which if a marriage could be organised the thought of the disturbed walls also disappears 4 I am sitting here in this shadow-hell unfurling a paper on the strong storm before night comes keep your face up from the silky letter and let me see you I would not go to that fabrics again of late I have turned into stone by heavy rain-fall now heat is required in equal measure for which I shall have to become loser in every game afterwards with my dusts this paper will fly away you recreate me with a new fever