Under the domes that dream
Darts a raven
The clever little clandestine one who never seems
To have e0ver had gotten over the recital to harp the clear sky in.
When the charred share a bone
To their own surprise, they hark on the simple and sad
As if a light went away
In the pariah that passed
On a new moon night
While they chorded on and resounded
A lesser known ghost they knew renewed
An alternate truth in midst the gullies
Where a gulp of water came, and went
To the parched soil’s comfort.
And there, were delivered to others
On the deserted night, when the sky beamed from the arrival.
Where the plight of the feathers came to be
With the dust settled and roared the time
Along the disarray of hosts, trying to be
The last meal, sumptuous and satisfying.
The kind was a kin in trouble
Alone, but not singled
Parting a ghoul – a clear misery
They were trying to untangle a fold left in history
Where the letters lit fits in fire
And the tomb’s repraisel gauged a victory.
Neither one free
From its own satire
A way to march upon the idle tree
Cast and set upon a pyre
Where the skyline reached the land
The figures scaled flames’ desires.
Between ought not be and did not see
The ‘as it is’ came to be
The chair chords carefully, a sentence from words
Alas! The melody – muted, mutilated mounds to mundane.
The choir crafts a cringe coming from the binge
One that satiated the satire and sooted the flame.
Ashes to a shire – the little man’s game
Bashes the bazaar – the wizards and the vixens.
© Prateek Joshi and WordPress, 2017-2018