Srveer Bhati Poet Free verse

Thou Art

In yards and yards, as symphony sprouts,
Taking an altitude above the ground.
The light-brown mud has a cry,
As the regular wind says it's "Hi".

Time churns,
The indelible death arrives.
A low for altitude, and a low for the wind,
A toll of scrutiny, and thyself,
Thou art growth, and thou art death.
Thou art none, not the self.

There comes another seed,
That too will sprout, that too will die.
A friend to both in time, the symphony fixated,
As the dark shade of mud....
And as distortion to the wind...

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