CVR (03-03-1954 / chembra)

Draining

it was not the day
when the rain drained.

as the windows opened,
no moonlight!
but a soft light
seeped after the rain.

as the doors opened,
it was a drenched breeze
that ran off the porch.

it was a paper boat
that flapped up
even before the feet cooled
in the eaves water.

on the fringe of porch
one has left
his scent of bath,
taken under the tickling trough.

in an oblivion,
not knowing what's pouring down,
and forgetting
to do the hair,
to wear the attire,
and the sleep
there's a tree.

an ally turned to be a void,
draining all the memories.
and the half-lost drops of tunes
on the fencing thickets
where the serpents take a slumber.

dripping moments,
on a sudden,
fell silent,
listened in the quiet:
no
neither did i hum a poem
nor a man did walk in my bosom.
grandpa might have breathed a sigh
having slaked the burning thirst.

there's a bud to bloom for morn!
o! it is not yet wet a little.
poor bud!
let it fall asleep
under the leaf that
caught and tangled in a web.

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