Words and Lines
I search for lines, in vain, days, evening, night.
Stippled heads are moving along a morning rail station, and
Poetry sleeps at a stale corner without cover in this city-winter.
An institution, with awardees for research to root out pauperization,
Where in front of the main gate,
Poetry yawns without food, raising its hand and pulling erudite in the rickshaw.
Park, river-side, theatre, shopping mall, restaurant, museum and in the zoo;
Selfie, photogenic-faces, snapshots;
Someone in, Someone out from an "iPhone !."
And poetry winks at the bargain of
The hedonist with a street food vendor.
Then I burnt-out and
Search for words to describe you,
People in haste make their way,
Leaving me behind,
While I hear a million gongs rumbling in a century-old edifice;
Where the present is standing
Beside the door of a room full of the past,
Where lights and sounds lost their way
Amid layers of glass-walls and paper-pillars,
I find all my lines, somewhere there.
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