Pouch Poetry 10 - 13

10. the apparent golden pot that i thought to be the underneath of a kadam-tree in the dim light i can notice that the stars in the sky are disappearing this session of poetry is coming to an end now where would i go to that little home the home a tiny word of 4 letters within that home the children are giggling playing … and making funs when i entered with a tri-cycle in hand for them i have been perplexed many old persons are waiting there to shake hands with me 11. almost most of my desires are very much hurt to show it publicly i wrap bandages around all over my body i keep on the stage-drama in our programme of reading poetry tea is served twice current has gone off for three times for four times the mobiles ring to pick up love some people think about returning back from today’s dais to the ancient stage of performing folk-drama then they are also sympathetic to my sufferings 12. everyday on my way to return home from the school when my mom took hold of my hands i could see in my body the dancing of an unforgettable aura even now that mystical halo is walking on the leaves of the trees to fulfil my mornings that wayfaring along the road is ringing far and far-off thus taking bath in every day’s dust smoke hue and cry many such love gradually gets aged is it true in the long run i too would be the ingredient of a fairy-tale just because i love that paddy field some time later she will also become human 13. then she will make all of us join her walking those inmost feeling those memories meditations the loneliness and solitude… sans the touch of the imagination of a crater… a creator… this blunder… this socially outcast white … this type of uneven… and irrelevance… sume words when peep in the mind i surprise to see that it’s ten to 2 at night then in the balcony my father is crying he always notices some grave-yard men in front of him and sheds tears