the last tram passes away

the boy
who is the owner of  every parted-kite
sits lonely on the empty bench of the park

and makes it enlightened

in one pocket
he has few pieces of dry breads

in another
the air to play on bamboo-flute

the night is filled with
mushroom

all the shout within the dialogues
gradually becomes weak
and vanishes  

there is no tangle in the
hair

the bier of the hindu-satkar-samiti
runs away
causing a quake in the locality

some needles
small medium and big
are doing their morning-walk

on the thread-line
that is the secret of a phoenix