Anonymity is a function of
these roads:
It is festival week
And the noisy city night
Rubbed our pasts off our
names.
Among the clamor of the bazaar
Among the clamor of the bazaar
I see your face receiving
The evening's chimerical
patterns,
As moving lights kiss and flee the moving us;
As moving lights kiss and flee the moving us;
I turn my eyes up
To study the patterns
Of April stars
As you stop at a bangle shop
To bargain in vain.
The stars seemed like
The stars seemed like
Broken lights from an
exhibit-design
That tried to replicate the
bazaar ground.
They held the moon in a hazy wet bowl of light
and whispered through a hustle of the wind
How anonymity is their idea
of a night.They held the moon in a hazy wet bowl of light
and whispered through a hustle of the wind
No comments:
Post a Comment