Picayune

These are small talks,
Only to find there way in the light
From the realm of darkness…

I was in the middle of the street
Listening to the city roaring;
The dust sweeping across the main road
Kissing my lips
I saw the leper who was never to be the Lazarus.

The innumerable shabby huts
Standing along the sea-shore,
The crimson sun setting on the background,
I saw a fisherman coming home
With his boat and two red eyes devoid of sleep
There were no fish.

A celestial shrine burnt
All the mourners were killed
And the only one survived is the idol
Charred beyond recognition.

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