I bred dreams
and with a beserked reality.
The lights were just curtains
made of almonds, grass and rain.
I was still a myth,
a flesh tombstoned alive,
in a forest with no surreal taste for fire.
I counted the pigeons who flew without purpose,
I wasn’t righteous, I wasn’t maniacal
I was being fair
and that blows everybody’s mind.
I kissed my heart in a flood of fire,
It’s ashes still warm, still fire.
You don’t the live you get,
You inherit it from stars who can’t speak
and hence they say, destiny is blind
for my arms still live in a river of scorned ashes
Unable to see, with eyes dazzled with unending fire.
– Shashank Bhardwaj