Screen of Burns

Something hastily burns

In the birth of this mist,

Some fast-rising smoke;

Resemblance of an aura

Of a scenic skyscape, an expanse

Over an endless sea, meditative thought:

What we never do, and to what we ought.

Just as clouds that kiss the Moon-face,

Floating on a breeze, forever travellers,

Crossing same paths, familiar lines,

Finding something new in every embrace.

Better to lose at times, but to lose with grace!


We have lived in this concrete, plastic-fibre place

Enough, to know the organic value of things…

What good is after all, a reality, constructed

Within walls of stagnated, un-growing thought!

The real, as surreal as the ideal itself,

Not to be contained in human brain boxes;

She just is, let her be.