fiction and poetry, Life, Poetry


lying on this table
staring at me
is a monk with a pot belly

maybe he wonders
how is my ride to nirvana going

maybe he wonders
as to why instead of hymming a  prayer,
i am on a war with the keyboard

maybe he reads the books I kept there
to trace where me heading

or maybe he was tired of everything around
had a hearty laugh and boom..
there was his nirvana.





One thought on “Buddha

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