The unnecessary planets of the Earth
The rotation.
The revolution.
Thinks of pure milk the womb when
No weeds are safe in no man’s land
No alphabet calls the supreme truth
No tool in the sun gets warmth
And no cooperative society writes something on the bloodless journey.
A triangle-a blue ribbon around the grey posterity.
Thud….
Shivers in fear the sky.
A semicolon.
The sick news bulletin.
Gets disappeared the conventional flute.
Where will birthday go if there is no apostle?
Flies the precious vacuum following last feather of the boat.
The red flowers of despair
The ballot papers with AI.
A long silence in the queue.
Who are there?
No question only answer
And the answer is –
‘Now we have to introduce a new era by crumbling the air…’
A funny syllabus with crackling tongues.
No arguments.
A new suffocation.
The prostrating sick dead.
Crawls the criminology to identify the blurred state- a daily ordeal.
A heinous rape of a poor girl in one of the poorest democracies.
A debacle!
Smiles the volatile behind the blind when a blind finds the hairy state playing chess alone
as it knows that no death is a life but a number.
Nilu – the clodhopper
The wise shrewdness and he is a clodhopper.
He cannot
talk
walk
think properly.
He runs errand free of cost or is given nothing
and he does not protest.
He has lost his home, dream and identity as the wisdom makes the world a casino
and if one is not bastard or wise (I mean the owner of a guillotine),
one cannot grab the nerve sternly
and thus one goes down due to the netherworld if one does not jump high.
Nilu has an elder brother who is in a good position of a governmental office
And Nilu, being homeless, spends the night in a roadside slum with the meagre meals.
Nilu reminds me of a Jack-ass – the endangered climate in the destitute artery
and the development – a great cruelty who purchases everything free of cost.
Very often he gets dooping in the sadness of the afternoon.
Sways on the green window of the lone valley.
Still today there is no golden letter for it.
Again a capsizal of a boat
The abstract jaundice.
The saline water.
The classic Polar axis
And no strike pay.
The light house.
The sweet-scented by God.
Again the paper wind.
An incomplete season with a centipede
And there is no ringtone of salvation.
The bell goes.
Openly opens the sky the holy vulture
But Alas! None look at it
As they are happy with
The wrong directions
Of the people
For the people
By the people.