Saturday, April 10, 2010


Crimson parakeets
And white doves
Flew from the crease
Nestled in hearts.

The bat touched
Grounds blossomed.
In each petals
Gods scribbled verses.

Seas stormed out
With the frolics in the pitch.

Colours melted
In the ivory of the bat.
Sounds merged
In its silence.

The past waited.
The present,grateful.
The future'll make tales.

Not mortal and immortal.

The magician,
With a wand of willow
Regained those haven't history.

A sailor
Marooned in storm.

In ways obscure,
Boldly explored
The unknown.
.......Thus wrote
a bee,
Frenzied in the might
you wielded the bat.

But, dear Sachin
I hate you.
Like a slave,
I'm in a slum,
your sixer cannot reach.

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