Come,
My river,
Its time.
Don’t be real
Don’t rhyme
Don’t rant
Don’t you sun, shine?
Don’t be,
A false machine
A nervous wind.
A rain’s wail,
Land’s end.
Loons,
And blood red moons,
What do you say?
Sing?
Yes do,
And kill.
A rain restrained,
Nothing lasts for you, or me.
Money or nothing,
Monets, sonnets,
Two vultures,
One poem.
We’ll be back.
-Palash
October’2016, Tinsukia
