I had to let them stay.
My anguish and anxiety.
Denuding me, filling me with hymns of pain.
The blank days drifted in slow motion.
I tried to sing, imitating the cuckoo on the tree,
to shake off the clouds from the eyes.
Every day, the pain was new,
dreams were old in the eternal churning.
Grizzled clouds hanged on trees
for witnessing the chaining of desires.
Empty words went into seizures,
clogging the arteries of crisp brain.
Deep within, a seed opened its eyes
sitting quietly near the blast of pain.
Green sprouts drank the light.
My poems wept and truth started a dance.
Time and space intermingled to celebrate a birth.
