Moments For Blooming Poem by murari sinha

1 the goose is putting its signature
on the plume detaching from its tail

the queue is overflowed with crowd

groping in the memory of the gathering people
so many safety pins and cello-tapes
are found

on the shoulders of some wayfarers
there is the stammering cold

2. the body-language of the moon
is being so changed
the enthusiastic may test

blood comes down
when the tap is on

and sweat

birds from siberia
are flying in now through the disc antenna

the dravidian air is ever changing

it is hard to get ruined now
following all the grammar

3. the sole hunger of the winter
is being noted down in the note book
covered with human-skin

the clouds of the summer and the rainy season
are salivating

the garrulous spiders are detaching the shells
of the deceased deer and putting the gardens in the iron-chest

throwing dry leaves to shoo away the coke
oh, the sleeveless palms
are all the new girl-friends ok

4. putting on the rain-coat to save the skin
or it’s an armour
is your body safe
fireworks are twinkling
piercing
the fire-brigade has gone to a joyful journey with the clouds
admit the charisma of the bathroom
you the adult buffalo
don’t forget to tell
the experienced cormorants have flown in from the marshland

5. diving in search of kisses
i saw all are stings
even the wicker tray with the articles of ceremonial reception
can’t escape bite
would you be clean
oh engrossed abir
so many flakes of snow on the branches of the guava tree
the festival is in your teeth also
soothe your blood
don’t submerge the river into the waves
and there is the sky
beg a rail


6 i pierced the clouds with my fore-finger
and the blood-stain touches my body
the wind which makes the doors and windows
open to public view I can’t stare at its eyes
i push the storm towards the yellow-leaves

7. sometimes the river calls
as if she will fly like the winged horse
if she be let loosed
where does she keep the sadness of her placenta
there is no flower-vase
the glass is good enough
though the lover glass has broken with the first kiss
the grass with aromatic roots trembles in the breeze from the
candid wings
the orna flies tearing the caterpillar
would you let your salted water be wasted

8. beside the comb there is hair
is it soft green or the alkaline
how much relevant is that information
rowing through which water the endemic comes
the afternoon-cloud giggled, took permission and went home
bringing an end to today’s game
the unwashed plates after eating are placed on the basin
the night-cigarette goes burning in the mouth of air
on the coughs and expectoration floats the lost mast

9. the sands are shy to the extreme
they don’t have looted anything
the bricks have much intimacy with the wild creepers
all the komonduls and lances turned backward
now you may easily spread your wet cloth in the air
one roof would have dialogues with another in the lost afternoon
one window would have exchange of sights with the another

10. there is the laugh
100% natural
beauty is written on the eyelids
that is also a game
new cloths at the time of every puja
that is also an addiction
a hidden bunglow
under the tongue
no information of death



murari sinha