There is a thin line of communication we cannot hear!
an anticlockwise adaptation we cannot fathom!
with a sudden stream of love we cannot flag our souls with.
Might wonders wandering;
a kick with the feet not so painful,
bye byes in the mirror of gravitational ambience.
Hanging on trees—
swinging on branches—
a feel of communication,
set in motion of a heartfelt emotions.
The earth is his friend!
why would an enemy be hospitable to a foe?
this is not life of a new earth!
They are tired,
bodies wrinkled to bones;
an embroyonic peel of skin—
and a silent night to lay with the graves.
Mothers of white candle hopes,
brothers of weightless red lights;
the leaf has fallen!
fallen to the whacks of the winds—
and o’ where there is life,
—indeed lies a cross road to the mouth of the earth.
lifeless bones in cage,
the new ones are budding—
but someday it shall be their turn,
to turn and turn to fall….
The Village Thinker © 2014