Lines More Lunatic Than The Sun – 3 Poem by murari sinha

just in the middle of the bad luck
I cultivate
some more boutique print

in the accident-prone foot of the kadam-tree
I deploy
a special correspondent of my own

putting my affidavit to the silk-worm
with myself
I’m going to start
bihu-dance
in the juhu-beach
Solo

comes to mind that date…i don’t remember..
when together in the bus-stand
you and me
we were both speechless

to your that silence
was offered my bread and butter

then in your those wide eyelids
for a moment
wasn’t put the shadow of any handkerchief
made of clouds

after then the epic of the mice started

like the creeper and the tree
the servant with the maid-servant
in that enlarging fire
the cloud was burnt
the water too

from the tooth-ache there took birth
the nail-polish
the hawai chappal
my FM