This Summer

The summer has cast its spell, As a demure man looking at Many stitches in his pants; Snow has left the peaks for The matured plain to be flat And mobile as an unwed girl's Late night dream; pipes of dry Leaves roll on fronds to check Trussed birds from bleeding; Cakes of cow dung leave many A moon on the distended walls; Years get squeezed in waxed eyes, As virginity jumps into bowls Of white porcelain and stays lazy; Flanked by arms with bangles Her innocence falls silent; The crows have stopped flapping Their wings in the noon when wisp of A stray cloud brings the dirge, From a remote graveyard sleeping At the grassy lap of a sullen hill. All right reserved @Tiku 2014