In Some Full Moon Of Dole

Crispy, like melodious romantic songs of some Hondi films, the moon-light are flowing past the bosom of Chaitra; wind is sitting drooping in that far-away field, on the aerial roots of banyan tree, pathetic Gazals of Galib are strolling in the veranda collide with each other; proud drifting moon-beam of this night dim-lights of the night-bulbs took leave. The nightly dusts fly over the clouds; and drooping clouds bend down somewhere at the far end of the field, near the brimming water of swamp... I could easily see, your sleepless locks of hairs sometimes becomes unruly and then suddenly turns very timid and tame. An indolent curled-up python is lying lazily in her dreamless sleep; let her breath of sudden awakening, take me away to the remote distance, where a pair of birds, are, like black-n-white image flying tireless... Flying away... Flying away...