Potentiality of a graveyard
Hard rain will poise the grasses
Who has parched since a year
Perhaps a rhododendron or an unknown bloom
Could be gaze above the gloomy azure sky
Why its raining hard, asked a passerby
I don’t know why, some one breathed
The wind swirled into the realm of a grave
A black cat sprang lightly across the bushes
Whether or not its sly
Or the life is, or not
Not worthy as broken tongue, only the carpeting
Of some greenish momentum in time and flung
Forever or a blooming through non-being to being
Or just living life in the sweet dream and yet clung.
4th June, 2016