The Fog Poem by Dwitun Basumatary

The night over-dreamed in a windless fog
As clouds flipped; curtained those Indian bog.
Dropping petals gently the air did slash
Bamboo dews song; as down they drip and splash.

Born in a wild valley of cold grasslands
Yonder Moon Ho! suns those dark starry lands
As long shadows paparize my treshold-
Honour did you the rambling thunderbolt?

As phone calls rival the moon's midnight calm
Million dreams vanished behind those plums
From my soul; sunken deep under my veins.
Scribbling poems without a jingle of feigns.

The morning laughing in its hurring haste
Bid every eyes a promise by their taste;
And ev'ry breath recovered from passing air
Heaved a sigh if God would ally him near.

A pink morn blown in a drunken wind
as fostered in cares telephones trinn
Someone's searching for someone's something-
I'm lost but you too left with anything?

Leave your sadness away to valley bells
And Let us; come hale, sip ale and talk tales.
For old pitfalls wept wet our chornicles,
As deities drank up all their miracles.

Rivers wait when the moon come sparkle it:
Long grass; long drunk in drench the dew bendth,
Await a woman temple washed as snow
As in cold days ordinary bones gnaw.

The swirling fog blurs more the dawnlit lawn
No shadow prowl anyone's early yawn.
So the foggy world lingers with no mess-
Heaven and Earth too go 'bout their buisness.