Burial Grounds



Tall-rises of the city sweeps through my shadows
Scattered across hounding nights,
Seeping in, sliding out,
You kissed my third-eye?
Like the flame glowing on power-cut nights,
Driven through empty countryside jeep rides and fallen autumn leaves,
Distant and dousing calamity of rush-hour haplessness
Of city streets where faces run into each other,
Cluttered and mingling,
Singling you out, to let you follow tomorrow’s
Morning sun followed by last night’s fragility
And, heartbeats pumping, adrenaline hopping
Screwing sessions,
The songs lasted as long as I kept looking for
A new Buddhism stirred through the songs you’d sung.
You kissed my third-eye,
Waves clamored, vultures heard of feasts,
Thoughts rested in a wrestling ring,
We’re not in a dream unless you decide to wake up.


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