I lie beside the red tree,
the sky is an estuary of the cold
blue winds and warm fire poured out in sky.
The song of this earth is a song of color,
Devoured and abandoned by the wrath of sea.
A sword cleaves the belly of the sky
To pour light in my pupils, too drowned by an evening on fire.
There deserts mourns for wetness of my tongue,
its sand wobble like a flightless bird, to feel the sweat tickle my back.
I become an earth,
In a pause, they call as sleep.
The oceans wrap my hands
In a glove of salt water,
and whispers me
to write with eyes closed.
While its still time.
While it still matters.
© Shashank Bhardwaj