by Mangesh Naik
Underneath the tree village ends
in moon’s rays their retinas breathe
ocean spreads it’s wings and music
“Two ones are two”
electric tenor in voices
children made of stars and skies
It rains alphabets and chemali nearby
is scattering flowers too. Tonight It’s
aphrodisiac smell is templish and shiny.
village sounds dying out. Faint echoes of
drunken brawls, bones burning in cemetery,
winter becomes more bitter and vocal.
These children we might have loved if
we could still think. Darting eyes full of
ashes and hugs, bouncing knees, hope dying out.
Finally a closing prayer before the midnight, small
window for small dreams,new day crouches
behind the hills , it’s backpack full of nothing.