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.