Inner Peace

The length of the cigarette
itself into fire,

the burning cigarette
slips through its butt
dying in an ashtray

as the left over -
empty sparkles of
silvery dust.

The earth wraps up like a package
inside its womb,

an embryo like a bone morrow
of a dinosaur that
burnt out centuries before.

Futurity delivers
the baby of an era
mottled in blood.

The trail of the dawn
leaked the dews to cleanse
the bloodied birth mark,

reveals it crystal clear
like the image of deca pixel
in which the poetry rhymes

the inner peace,
that’s in the womb of futurity
I yearned breathing the stone.

September 30th 2004

by Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

Other poems of TULADHAR (40)

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