Poetry

How will you call
me, when I was invisible?

The whole thing
of burning ghat turns
into ash, from which
the Phoenix will rise.

Who was this
diva standing on my path?

Sun, time and
flames ripen the smile.
The sentence was heavy
to prove the fidelity.

This story is different
from the myth of Sisyphus.

The bird was flying
towards the sun. Moon
weeps to open the secret
of embracing a yajna.