The treasure in dust, with every gift human

kinds learn, lead, you never know what's spread

in public ears, until you get resources

in disgust, for someone who follows

the blind heart, crack, touch— strains

in the belly of eagles.

Mock at the helpless, the silver moon

is clasped in between, a teller counters

its job, "how much will you bet on tales?"

He only shakes his head, the pin drop

Silence blasted in the rose garden.

Now, the heart sings with thousand tales

who heard, who fussed, about hundred miles

The root follows me! me! me!

Don't you hear me? I sang, sing in the long

valley, the city of cells dance in a whirl island—

I'm the dream of many, untouchable in the

glaring white house.

The city— that once flamed devour,

only weeps over drunken sailors,

O! My dear navy friend! Carry me!

To the place of a grumbled crust.

For the first time he looks fine,

Act like a ravisher, for bounding art

Yet he trembles, almost fall—

Carried by unknown string,

He masked, singing for his unbound art.

The night sleeps on his shadow,

Watching the red war,

Getting smeared in unknown letters.

— 15th April, 2024.