By Bikirina Borah
The polis outside brims with noise,
At home, no siren;
Slowly, the ruckus drowns in the pool
By the land of thoughts so barren.
Hot flushes all encompassing,
Prickling against my cover,
From mind’s darkest alleys
And mountains and valleys emerge
Cloudless rain:
A silent chauffeur.
Tingling my legs with a subtle twitch
It creeps up fresh, entails:
Securing my breath, it bargains
For my judgement, my senses.
Palpitating heart then mollifies
As I unravel the game,
For spun out lingering efforts:
With a chimerical hope,
An evanescence of happiness
I marshal to tame.
By Bikirina Borah
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