Friday, February 17, 2012

Hari Barkakoti

On The Death Of A Female Friend

The greenery spreads and is lost
On the sound of my footsteps
Weighing each moment of life
With tiny spoons
Which sparkle in sunlight
I witnessed
Bound in the chain of nonchalance
Even the very brave nightingales
Their two legs are exhausted
The gust of wind
Binds the wings of the wild grasshoppers
With springs.

I continued to stare
At the smoky horizon
Blurred with bitterness
The beckoning
And saw
The days that are already over
Like the stone on the glass box
Which sparkles
Between my hands.

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