by Narendra Kumar Arya
Look at the blue
And then look down on my face
Can you feel the void?
That has no wings
and flies as if it was sky.
I am a boat from Harappa
It's a preferred moniker
Upside down anatomized
And I walk on the roads which have no traces
Water if it ever been there
No my dreams are not dry
I have drowned many times in their respite.
There are the images
Often piercing me soft
Those have been plucked fresh from the barren trees
And paintings are still bleeding in their memories
As if not images but immature bodies
My washroom has tiny drops of red
Sprayed on nine invisible walls.