A HOT NOON

Memory is a crippled bird wingless ,

Disabled for any flight ,

Softly cooing in corner of a tree

Like a stuck- up torn kite ,

Sulking in sad voice of a noon wind

Away from common sight .

Your jasmine body drenched by rain

From yester night’s sky is formless now

In the heat of smokes rising from lightly wet sands ,

Heating up in the dead bank of our river ,

Lost to obliterating strokes of times ;

Making it quite difficult for me to restore

Your aroma and form  in nuances of my rhymes .

I’m a dot in the outlines of your thoughts

Transpiring thro’ pores of your wrinkled spirit

That pines for salvation in the folds of old desires

Shrinking and then withering

Like petals under this noon, blistering ;

And I seething like an embattled desire

In the womb of fallen mire,

Writhing like an insect

For redemption in the dark web of a noon fire .

@ copy right : saroj k. padhi/ 19/03/15