04 June, 2012

FLUTING

Time unleashed from ferrum 
becomes pain 
like a palm moon. 

A tableau vivant was gliding 
on the road. 
It was a night of rage. 

A frozen scene 
undulates the history of fire 
in the eyes of a flute. 

Who was breaking 
the clouds 
wading in reeds?

Satish Verma

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