//Cylinder//

The world has become so tired
After a long travel through time and space
It appeared lying on the grassy meadow
Like a maid servant grind, reaming
Pasting her skinny corpse with a rotten mat 
Which is spread like a summer body 
While her flesh plastered on the skin.

The newspapers announced:
A havoc would stop the 
mankind from dreaming,
the annalists wasted pages 
for the world, might destroy 
the minimum thread
break up with family,


skipping off the orbit and
the world might roll under 
rich neighbour’s gate.
that is what I understood or imagined 
or would bend his head 
nodding on the window like a bus conductor.

Still I never believed them,
Never believed that one day 
People would drop me off the bus 
and run away to life,
Never believed that
the world would stop me or is stopped,
never dreamt even that 
the police man would 
ask me to sing the national anthem at the station.

I then wished the world stopped
And it stopped.

When the child who shares his alphabets 
with me everyday,
stole my purse and 
ditched me with his great personality.

I picked up a bus towards the graveyard 
of few past photographs 
to travel for a definite pain.

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