A spider weaves its web
around the blossoming bud.
And there under the white ash petals,
respiring in the sweet acidic pungent
smell of the guava leaves,
the spider hides in its opulent abode.
I simply stand there jealous.
I wonder if the spider senses this.

The place was dingy,
the light from the bulbs gave our vision
an orange tint.
Like the insides of a tree's bark.

There were round tables everywhere,
taken over by hearts ready to drown.
Bodies ready to feel with utomst sincerity,
feelings clogged in them since past few days.
Since forever.

Men, women,
newly blossomed teens.
All swayed with the entrancing notes
oozing from the secretive speakers,
awaiting their turns
for that sweet, sour, husky elixir.
We too dallied solemnly,
quiet in a corner
in an absolute, invisible frenzy.

Our lips smacking
at the sight
of the liquid spilling
and the froth being whisked.
We too stood by for the leash to be taken off.

That room stripped
of windows and doors
cannot be a refuge to shadows.

A book without name
cannot be found.

This flesh without memory
knows nothing good,
knows nothing bad.

A key kept away from the lock
looses its purpose.

From strangers we learned
of the gifts that your voice bestows.
Lending the moon its glow.
Granting the dreams their suppositions.

Now then,
must we remain empty handed ?
You who are fashioned of golden clay, should know.
That a pious man's prayer brings forth godly favours.

They use their voice
at the behest of good reason.
After perfecting the words like edge of an spear
and marking the victims that they will pursue.
Then with ease and sincerity
they release a volley of arrows.
An arrow will pierce our flesh,
with this hope we too stand at the frontlines.