Treasure Island

lovita j r morang

(16th july 1976 / arunachal pradesh.assam, india)

BURY THE HATCHET


BURY THE HATCHET

And in such subliminal layers of wind you disappear.
To become a Messiah in the myth of Massai Warrior's spear.
Drenched dewy desert, shelters the forest fertile
How do you cheer while crossing the Nile

In triumph Tapu war dancer's sword narrates stories of love that the war belong
Guardians of Abotani-the first man made the sword sing song

Bring some colours from the sky of your country;
The flowering tree in the courtyard of autumn arrives in glee.

Fallen feathers from birds sing along the wings of the wilt woe,
The night has closed it's doors.
Windows are open, wafting along the raft of primrose path,
Under the skin of tinsel skylight
You gulp pain and live right in Sabbath
what vivify the whimpering will is the fervent waiting.

How happy can you be as a child in crisis, greeting the gratis.
What capacity of love can tame, driftwood frazzled in the net of dream-catcher's flame
what rouse unexplained that trades, in magic tapestry of time serenades

Mountain Gods guards the villages built by mothers
When leaves fall filling the roof, pours rainfall too
Perched lips, smiles never sunken
Faultless fruits of trees sweeten the homes that were broken

Bury the hatchet, autumn on the way
Perished pest buried beneath the mounds of leaves
Fragrance of earth shall protect the frontier man's heath, in hopeful heave.
Bury the hatchet in the hives of heyday, autumn on the way
Bury the hatchet....
























car games while driving

Submitted: Saturday, August 09, 2014

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Topic(s): art

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Inspired by the first man of all tribal myths and last men who dwell daringly in the last frontiers of countries and carry no animosity. Unlike, people who fight and kill eachother.























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