And then the body loses
Wild euphoric fragrance.
The spring ends and the burnt soil
Somewhere cries in distress.
Somewhere the dust will raise storm
And snap some homes.
Till the butterflies are colourful
And the dreams are carried on their wings
Flowers too drift down the stream,
But into torn, empty beehives,
With dust on their bodies
The darkness will rest in their chest.
A fathometer gets the depth of an ocean
But the depth of a heart remains unknown.
Only a Mohenjodaro remains
By the river Sindhu
Who knows what else must have gone
And when since then.