Thursday, 25 February 2016



From and around,
The flower of my belly,
A night ascends, too arid,
And butterflies feast on the fireflies;

I yearn to melt,
Under you—
Your feverish gaze,
And turn into a Night-Jasmine garland.

That you can churn,
In your chafed, rustic palms,
Exuding, a fragrance flume,
Some wild, pollen plumes, running amok;

And then, anointing your body,
Smearing it on forehead,
Should dance… wilderness…
…………on the flushed face of the Earth. 

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