Murari Sinha Poet Prose Poetry

Paper Buckles 1-3

1.
any colour may be applied to the 
night-dress 

this city actually has no cart 
driven by horses 

before a pretty long time the shepherds 
had also told adieu 

by secret signalling the red-hat addiction 
called the pigeons  sitting on the broken sticks 
of the antenna to come nearer

on those dead-news the travel-story 
keeps awake by whole night 
 
and pours down on eye-lids 
clouds 
wrapped with cellophane
 
one day that wave sent 
rolling-down-on-the-back hair
to the yellow balcony

those are all ancient drama 

in the glow of the back-light you can see 
civic humps have grown up on the back 
of the birds every day and night

yet 
under the dead-stop ceiling fan the dance 
of the virgin reel wet with sweat does not fall short 

the paper-buckles with the flowers painted on it
gets more and more tight on the air of the throat 

velpuris of the evening 
offer full enjoyment 

2.
the night that comes all walking on the sands of the desert 
how much concern does she has about the navigability of the river 

when the husk of the water-chestnut is got open 
flowing down the waves bursting into a blaze 

to that flow is open the motor-car
the wan procession 
and all the fishes that want to go upward the wave 

so many varieties of floating 

if the matter of clouds be let off 
the multi-coloured fingers 
also have so many infotainments   

if the question of  moveable property is  raised 
it is only a suicide-note from my father 

and a knot 
in the robe of the blue trouser 

3.
the trees and creepers of the night 
and the plants and herbs of the day 
do all of them have the same blood-group 

there is much flora 
inside the jail-custody also 
and in this ruins of the old palace
 
how much is it justified 
to express eagerness about the geography 
of one’s character 

specially of the trees 
of the fishes 
or of the humans 

it is said 
all rivers 
flowing through the bodies of the great men 
are totally virgin 

there is also the blank desert 
on the silent snow-valley 
in the corner of your 
lips

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