A Poet's Hand

A hullabaloo heard; what is the matter? Everybody running towards the rive. A river nothing but a name Only a dead river-line full of sands Once flowing flowed gloriously A dreadful roaring sound heard. I too ran after the mob. Everybody standing on the bank Saw the river flowing brimful Bur not water, wavy flow of blood. numerous corpses and skeletons beheaded bodies, headless demons bones, entrails, eyes, separated legs, hands, pulp of fetid flash floating away.... Suddenly I noticed a separated raising hand floating gripping a verdant branch of blooming ‘Lodhra-kusuma.' A grand old man of our neighbourhood told, ‘It must be hand of a poet. It must be a hand of a poet.'