Find her...find her...
The consciousness grows near,
With the distant calling of hawks,
Like a defiant storm in a rain-shadow,
It crafts its way on the rocks…
It glides, it sways, it bends away
Where it fears a crouched stranger
And ricochets off the Himalayan eyes
To remain deep under forever.
Though the floundering eyes
Know all the signs
Of the approaching thunder,
It will not shriek and cower
Inside the stark fault-lines.
Pity in the long run of yards,
You knew so little that you knew her...
She gave you life, she gave you trysts
And you gave in for her...
Stone-headed with hope this time,
Your rhymes all merge to slurs,
They dim away like a frigid star
To die to give respite to a million desires.
They keep awake the consciousness still…
Tip-toeing across the moist grass,
A little girl with a basket in hand
Of morning twinkles and scarlet flowers...
Two lines, that never rhymed
At the age of four...
Two times, the word repeats---
The last time she shone!
